#dean + the symbolic giving of the heart | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

artyandink · 1 month ago

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𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞 𝐱𝐲𝐳 1

SUMMARY: You’re the first female president of the USA, having won the 2014 elections against Amara Shurley by a landslide. Now that you were a symbol of feminism, reform and a better country, it meant that there were a lot more assassination attempts bound to be on your head. For that, you needed a personal bodyguard, so you had to pick right. And you picked right in convicted ex-hitman Dean Winchester. Right?

TW: assassination attempts, ex-hitman!Dean, POTUS!reader, politics!au, politics, murder, gunfire, boss reader, angst, major sexual tension between reader and Dean but also romantic tension cause we love that, slow/quick burn, y’all will have to figure that out

A/N: In honour of our queen Kamala Harris, who didn’t win the 2024 elections, so I give you what could’ve been

NOW PLAYING: Power by Little Mix

office fever

God, the wait was killing you.

You were sitting in a bar, hoping that when the results of the final poll came you were drunk enough that you’d cheer and scream like a madwoman to counteract the inevitable news that you’d lose the 2014 presidential elections to your only eligible opponent, Amara Shurley. Either way, you both had incredibly good future legislations and laws, and whoever was elected there’d be a woman as the President for the first time, which was good. Really good.

“Come on, babes, cheer up!” Stephanie, one of your two best friends, drawled, checking her manicured nails while absent-mindedly sipping on a Long Island Iced Tea like it was merely water, but that was Steph O’Donnell for you, plain and simple. Eh, she was a bit nails-obsessed, but you loved her anyway for it, she did always look immaculate.

Bella, your other, redhead best friend, sighed and smacked Steph upside her blonde head, earning a gasp at the potentially ruined heatless curls (no, they weren’t ruined, she’s just being dramatic). “Maybe you just need to get less alcohol in your system.” She said pointedly, plucking the vodka shot out of your fingers.

“Bels, if anything, she needs more.” Steph pointed out after checking if her hair wasn’t frizzed up in a pocket mirror. “If she wins, it just means she’s capable of partying harder.”

Bella sighed and rolled her eyes, shaking her head with a small laugh, tsking internally at the notion. “She needs to remain sober for when she gets the results, and she’s going to win.” Bella turned to you with a sparkling smile and took your hand, squeezing it. “We’re here for you, girl. Sure, it’s totally possible that the Amara Shurley woman could win the election — she’s older — but if the country’s not stupid, then you’ll be the next POTUS.”

“I’m not sure whether to feel better or worse.” You playfully rolled your eyes, but let the vodka shot go and gestured to the bartender with a resigned sigh. Yeah, you could go without alcohol for tonight. “But ok. One mocktail, and surprise me with it. Cheers.” You looked to Bella with raised eyebrows, tipping your head slightly. “So, what if I lose the election?”

Bella tutted, and Steph looked up from her nails in shock— damn, that’s how you knew you were in deep shit. “Baby girl, you better get that thinking out of your head right now.” Steph gasped, pressing a hand to her chest in shock. “You are an icon for a feminist nation— a non-toxic feminist nation. If people don’t vote for you, I’m gonna kill those who didn’t, those who did can live.”

“Don’t do that.”

“I’ll do it.”

“Steph, no—”

“Yes—”

A loud squeal from Bella distracted both of you and almost made Steph spill the Cosmo that matched her nails and also made her shoot a you bitch look that she really didn’t mean, but then Bella started flapping her hands and making squealing and unintelligible, Brittany from Alvin and the Chipmunk-esque sounds that made you and Steph share a look. “You ok, Bels?” You asked in severe mild concern, while Steph just looked either repulsed or amused.

“Are you having a stroke?” Steph continued, checking for any signs of maybe a heart attack or an ice cube lodged down her throat so her speech becomes little whistles.

“Do you smell toast?” You waved a hand in front of your nose, but then her phone was shoved in front of your face so the screen and everything went blurry, not to mention the sting of the light on your eyes— shit, that burned until your retinas. Grabbing the phone from her, you held it at a distance and squinted (“grandma”, said Steph) but then saw the headline.

2014 PRESIDENTIAL ELECTIONS, FINAL POLL RESULTS

Then you scrolled down, with bated breath and clutching Bella’s hand like you wanted to rip it off, and you took a shaky look at the numbers.

AMARA SHURLEY — 36%

That means you got… 64% of the vote, now that you did the math. Holy shit. “Holy shit!” You gasped, letting out a Bella-reminiscent squeal just as Steph did, and you were smothered by two heavily-perfumed hugs, the wind knocked out of you, but did that matter? No.

You were the President. The first female President. POTUS. The youngest ever elected too, at 35.

Holy fuck, holy shit, holy crap. This was the most beautiful day of your life, beside the day you met Bella and Steph, that day was important. “You’re POTUS.” Steph grinned, waving for, like, six whiskeys for all of you to down.

“You’re POTUS, baby girl.” Bella giggled, squeezing your shoulders and then spinning around on her bar stool, pointing obviously to you and yelling “POTUS!”, earning a round of cheers and applause from the patrons that made you bury your face in your hands.

But you did it with a grin. You were the President.

Honestly, being the President was exhilarating, cause that meant you got to make real change, it was incredible. Your new security team had fended off the paparazzi from smothering you Bella and Steph style except more annoying as you were escorted into the White House, a woman only a little younger than you waiting with an eager grin and a clipboard hugged to her chest.

“Welcome to the White House, Madam President.” She grinned, holding out her hand nervously then retracting it— she didn’t know what new bosses wanted, alright? “I’m Becky Rosen, I’ll be your assistant. Anything you need, I’ll handle it. Do you want anything? Tea, coffee, water, a martini— if you want a martini I’ll have the barman get one ready and waiting for you in the Oval Office…”

During that time she’d been rambling you’d examined Becky, getting a feel for what she was like. Thank God your assistant was a woman also and she seemed like good fun, lively spirit, definitely someone who won’t make your schedule sound boring. But she looked overworked and tired, maybe from the last president— that’d be Raphael Easton, right? Yeah.

“Two things,” you started as you were walking through the halls to the Oval Office, “do you have the files for personal bodyguard applicants that I can cycle through before making official speeches?”

“They’re all on your desk, ma’am.” Becky answered almost immediately— damn, she was rather eager, and happy with her job, clearly, but also had dark circles and eye bags that made something twinge in you. It didn’t sit right.

You nodded, then gave her a warm smile, gently taking the clipboard. “How ‘bout you take the day off, yeah? It’s only my first day, I don’t need anything yet, and I can get the applicants from…” You looked through the labels on the file: FBI, CIA, private agencies, ADX Supermax— ADX Supermax?

“What’s wrong, ma’am?” Becky asked, seeing the way your words trailed off upon seeing the file amid all the other incredibly professional outlets for protection, an applicant from the ADX. Well, you did say unorthodox applicants can apply if they wanted to, you just didn’t expect a dude in prison to put his file through.

Oh. Upon opening it, it was just a letter.

You looked up to Becky, biting your lip in thought, cause if this guy’s in the Supermax, he’s prolific.

“Do I have a direct line to the director of the FBI?”

ADX Florence was a fortress, a high-tech prison designed to keep America’s most dangerous criminals sealed away from the world. It wasn’t a place where hope grew. Dean Winchester, prisoner 11347-7, wasn’t the kind of guy to expect hope anyway. A hitman with a list of bodies long enough to fill a small town cemetery, he had resigned himself to spending the rest of his days in this tomb of concrete and steel.

It wasn’t regret that gnawed at him in the sterile silence of his cell. Regret wasn’t his style. He’d made his choices, taken his hits, and lived by the only code he knew: survival. But that didn’t mean he liked being locked away. Dean had always been a man who thrived on freedom—the smell of asphalt under the Impala’s tires, the weight of a weapon he knew as intimately as his own heartbeat, the thrill of a job well done.

Now, his days were measured in three meals delivered through a slot and the endless monotony of isolation. Until that morning in 2008 when the guard, a surly guy Dean called Mustache, slid a newspaper into his cell along with the breakfast tray.

Dean didn’t read newspapers often. What was the point? The world moved on without him. But that day, boredom got the better of him. He skimmed headlines about wars, scandals, and the economy’s nosedive. Nothing he hadn’t expected. Then his eyes landed on something that made him sit up straighter on the cot.

“Wanted: Elite Personal Security for First Female President. Apply Now.”

The ad stood out like a neon sign in a desert. Beneath the bold letters was a glossy image of the President standing in front of the White House, flanked by Secret Service agents. The text outlined the need for a personal bodyguard—someone with impeccable skills, discretion, and a willingness to take a bullet if necessary. Experience required. Unorthodox candidates welcome.

Dean read it twice, then a third time, the words stirring something he hadn’t felt in years. It wasn’t quite hope, but it was close.

ADX Supermax wasn’t the kind of place where people left easily. But this ad…this ad was a door, cracked open just wide enough for someone like him to slip through.

“Unorthodox candidates,” he muttered, smirking. “Guess I qualify.”

By lunchtime, Dean had a plan. It wasn’t perfect—nothing he did ever was—but it was a shot, and that was more than he usually got in this place.

He spent hours staring at the blank sheet of paper he’d salvaged from a previous legal memo. Writing wasn’t his strong suit. Hell, if he’d been good at words, maybe he wouldn’t have ended up in the killing business in the first place. But this wasn’t about flowery language. It was about convincing someone that a convicted hitman could be trusted with the life of the most powerful person in the country.

Dean leaned over the small desk bolted to the wall of his cell, chewing the end of his pen as he started to scribble.

To Madam President,

I am writing to express my interest in the position of personal security for the President. I realize my application may raise questions, given my current circumstances, but I ask for your consideration based on my unique qualifications.

Before my incarceration, I was highly skilled in tactical operations, surveillance, and neutralising high-level targets. My ability to assess danger and act decisively has been tested in some of the most dangerous environments.

Though I am serving time for my past actions, I believe in redemption. This position represents an opportunity for me to use my skills for a greater purpose. I have spent my years here reflecting on my choices, and I am prepared to dedicate my life to protecting someone who stands for hope and progress in this country.

Thank you for your time and consideration. I am available for an interview at your convenience.

Sincerely, Dean Winchester

He read over the letter a dozen times, making minor adjustments. It was rough, sure, but it was honest. And honesty was something he didn’t traffic in often, neither were fancy words, and he used a lot of them.

By the time he was done, his hand ached, and the paper was smudged from his grip. He folded it carefully and tucked it into the pocket of his jumpsuit.

The next step was trickier.

Dean’s lawyer, a wiry man named Feldman who’d been paid off by some shadowy client years ago to keep an eye on him, didn’t usually show up unless Dean demanded it. This time, Dean played the card of “urgent legal matter.” When Feldman arrived, looking mildly annoyed but curious, Dean slid the letter across the table during their monitored meeting.

“You want me to…submit this?” Feldman asked, raising an eyebrow.

Dean nodded. “Straight to the President’s office. No detours, no ‘I’ll get to it later.’ This is priority one.”

Feldman stared at him like he’d grown a second head. “You realize this is insane, right? You’re in here for life. They’re not going to let you out just because you can write a heartfelt letter.”

“They might if they’re desperate enough,” Dean countered. “And that ad says they’re looking for someone who can do the job, not someone who looks good on paper. I can do the job.”

Feldman sighed, running a hand through his thinning hair. “And if I say no?”

Dean’s smile didn’t reach his eyes. “You won’t. You owe me.”

Feldman muttered something under his breath but pocketed the letter. “You’re lucky I like long shots.”

Weeks passed. Dean didn’t hear anything, and for a while, he wondered if Feldman had tossed the letter in the nearest trash can. But then, one morning, Mustache appeared at his cell with an unreadable expression.

“You’ve got a visitor,” he said gruffly.

Dean frowned. “Who?”

“Didn’t say. Get up.”

Visitors were rare, especially unannounced ones. Dean followed Mustache down the cold, narrow corridors, his curiosity growing. When he reached the visitor room, his breath caught.

The woman sitting on the other side of the plexiglass partition was dressed in a crisp suit, her posture radiating authority. She wasn’t Feldman, and she definitely wasn’t a typical visitor.

Dean picked up the phone on his side of the glass.

“Mr. Winchester,” she said, her voice calm but firm. “I’m here on behalf of the President.”

He leaned back in his chair, smirking. “Guess you got my letter.”

Her expression didn’t change. “We did. It was…unconventional.”

“That’s me in a nutshell.”

She glanced at a folder on the table in front of her. “Your record is extensive. Multiple charges of murder-for-hire, conspiracy, weapons trafficking…” She looked up, her sharp eyes locking onto his. “Why should we trust you?”

Dean leaned forward, his tone serious. “Because I know what I’m doing. You want someone who’ll lay down their life for the President? Someone who’ll see the threats before anyone else does? That’s me. I’ve been on both sides of this game. I know how killers think because I’ve been one. And if you give me this chance, I’ll prove that I’m more than what’s in that file.”

The woman studied him for a long moment before standing. “We’ll be in touch.”

Dean hung up the phone, watching her leave with a mixture of hope and disbelief. For the first time in years, it felt like the world outside ADX Supermax wasn’t as far away as it seemed.

You’d been running interviews for a bodyguard for about a week now, and you’d only started them once Becky had gotten a good rest, as well as the rest of the staff at the White House so they could spend good time with their families. First few weeks of presidency were busy ones, so you wanted your employees to have some time for themselves before anything happened.

Nobody seemed suitable to you, even though you’d been presented with the best FBI, CIA and private outlet’s security detail they had, they’d each and all failed your every attempt to make them seem credible, you didn’t want anyone like that. Tabloids had already gotten to smearing your name regarding this, but you were more concerned with your final applicant.

Dean Winchester.

You’d asked the FBI to send over every file they had on him, and the list was — you hated to say it — extensive. Many assassinations of high and low-level targets, and he was credited with over 100 assassinations in the past two years— you had your doubts about this guy, the director of the FBI had said he was in there for a reason.

You’d find out if he was unhinged, or just a normal man.

Well, Dean had been escorted as covertly as possible with a bunch of military and secret service agents, which didn’t make sense as his hands were shackled to his feet. The only way he’d be getting out of these chains was if he was a magician, and he wasn’t, just incredibly good at marksmanship and fighting, thank John for that.

“Alright, alright.” He scoffed, almost tripping out of the car as he was practically shoved up the steps by the agents by his head. “I’m moving, I’m moving, Jesus fuck, you ladies are uptight.” He got to the door of the White House, and holy shit, he was really here. He got let in, hearing a Secret Service agent blabbing in his ear.

“Any funny business, 353, and we’re sending you straight back. You’re gonna address Madam President with respect, no cheek—” Ugh, the sound of his voice was grating, but all Dean could do was let out a terse nod as he was led to the door of the Oval Office and led inside. He stepped in, glaring at the service agent who had been yapping about decorum. Then, suddenly—

“Oi! Hey, hey!” A woman’s voice snapped, and he looked up from his shackles to see you, and boy, were you young for a president. You had to be his age, right? Yeah, and you were surprisingly gorgeous for a POTUS, but the way you’d stood up with a loud chair screech from your desk, snapped your fingers and pointing at Dean’s shackles with a livid expression, he knew the agents were in deep shit.

“The fuck is this?” You gestured to the heavy shackles on Dean’s wrists and ankles— they were quite heavy and uncomfortable, now that he paid attention to it, but he was more focused on how much of a little Spitfire you were. Young, but you were snapping at these middle-aged men as if they were 5 year old children. “You might as well put a chain around his neck, for God’s sake— whichever of you has the key, take those things off and leave my office, if he kills me, fine, just have Amara take my place, she’ll do a damn good job as well.”

The service agents stood there, stunned, and then a stern look from you — “Damn,” Dean muttered — got the agent next to Dean to shove the key in the lock to his wrists and ankles, letting the chains fall free, and they were promptly carried out. You sighed, returning to your desk, running a hand through your hair.

“I am so sorry about that, Mr Winchester, I’ve just always found those chains really inhumane.” You rushed the sentence, gesturing to your desk in front of you and sipping your coffee to calm down. Honestly, not your best option, it probably made you more jittery.

Dean didn’t argue, he didn’t want to get scolded, just made his way to the desk, grey jumpsuit — he was in protective custody in prison — rustling with every step until he sat down on the irresistibly comfy chair, cause wow, prison chairs were hard and low standard.

His ass felt like it was in heaven right now.

“No problem, ma’am, I see the point. Not exactly the cleanest slate.” He didn’t think it was wise to make a joke of how he’d assassinated people for hire, but it made you laugh, so maybe that was good going. Who knows? “And call me Dean.”

“I see that.” You smiled, then gestured to Dean with a warm smile, not something he was used to unless it was the smiles of his mom that he barely remembered. Otherwise it was either hungry, lustful smiles of desperate women and cunning smiles of ruthless businessmen and mafia bosses. “So, Dean, before we get started, would you like anything? Tea, coffee, water, beer, whiskey— one candidate asked for straight vodka. He’s not getting the job.” Damn. The new POTUS was cool.

“Water would be great.” Dean would have a drop of whiskey, but he wanted to make a good impression and hydrate himself with something other than low-quality prison water. So, when you passed him the water, he downed the tall glass in three gulps, but then paused when he saw you watching.

Then he swallowed. Shit.

But you weren’t judging him, you seemed understanding, that yes, prison water probably tasted like rat piss, so he finished the rest of the glass and wiped his hand with the back of his mouth. “Sorry.”

“No need to apologise. Prison must be really rough, treat yourself.” You waved him off, shaking your head, then peered through his file. Rather interesting family background, how did he turn out that way? “Says here that your father’s a Marine Corporal veteran, thanks for his service, and your brother’s a prosecution lawyer that graduated from Stanford Law. Impressive.” You looked up at him, thumb playing with the ring on your middle finger, eyes focused on the paper.

Dean couldn’t help but note that you were beautiful. Not objectively, just factually beautiful. He’s not being a perv.

“My brother’s a nerd.” Dean stated with a smile as you talked about his family, he didn’t blame them, he wasn’t a bookworm, he wasn’t as smart as his little brother in that aspect, Sam was all about studying and being the good kid.

"Yeah, my brother used to say I was a nerd, now look at me." You chuckled, then nodded in acknowledgement. "You, however, you graduated just on the mark, no honours, didn't go to college and transactions show you started as a hitman when you were 20." You paused for a second, cause that was what you couldn’t put your finger on. "But the equal amounts of money went to Stanford in deposits. Why?"

Dean knew he was gonna be interrogated by the new President, that’s a given, and he made sure to prepare himself for the whole psychological evaluation of himself. His expression remained unreadable, only slightly surprised by how quickly you put together that he’d been paying for his brother’s college.

“He’s family. Sammy’s a good kid, he deserves to get away from this life.” Dean answered, it was a simple answer. It didn’t really dig deep into his past or his true relationships with his family.

Well, all you had to know was that his dad was paranoid after returning from deployment and taught him how to shoot like James fucking Bond and Sammy too, but Sam had left for college while Dean had nothing he could do for himself.

"Mhm." You hummed, looking through the rest of it. "Now my guys are finding that in the years since your brother left college, money you've earned from assassinations ordered by high level clients — that are now behind bars — has been wired to a rehab centre down in Delaware. I looked into it, and I found out your father's staying there. None of that money's going to you." Your voice wasn't judging. You instead sounded understanding.

The only reason why Dean wasn’t surprised or shocked by the fact that you knew this was the fact that you were the President. He should’ve guessed. He smiled slightly as you remained understanding about the whole situation though, most other politicians would’ve seen this as a chance to blackmail and threaten him.

“Yeah, my dad’s got severe PTSD. It’s the only good one nearby.” He explained as he crossed his arms. It would be hard to find a rehab centre that accepted his dad given the whole violent record he had.

You couldn’t help but feel sympathy at that. Dean’s juvenile record wasn’t the cleanest, so no shops would’ve hired him so he could make that money, only black ops would. It was strange, and you’d be under fire by the media if you voiced it, but you saw his struggle. “You did it for your family.” You were surprised at how softly you said that.

“Family don’t end in blood, ma’am.” Dean replied, honestly, and you were hit where it hurt by that statement. You were expecting a cold-hearted killer, not a man trying to do right by his post-traumatic father and little brother. “Not if I’m still breathin’. Sammy’s got a good life, a wife, by what I’ve heard. Don’t wanna burden him with all that shit, a-and I haven’t talked to him in a few years. My boy.” He cleared his throat to not get too emotional.

You had to do that too, just to be clear.

“I’m sorry.” But that wouldn’t just fix everything, so you took a moment to let that hang in order to give him some time. “Only important question I’m gonna ask. Hypothetically, we’re under fire at one of my events. You’ve gotten me to safety, and I give you the order to do the same for civilians. Do you do it?”

Dean took in the question, eyebrow raised slightly as he leaned forward, elbows resting on the table as he studied you. That was a odd but interesting question. This was a job interview for real, it seems.

But this answer was simple.

“Civilians. I’d get the innocents out first.” He said, there wasn’t even a hint of hesitation in his voice. Civilians, innocent people will always come first before anything and anyone. He’d made sure when performing hits that no civilians, women, fathers, men, mothers, children— were safely out of the way before taking a shot. If they weren’t, he refused. He wasn’t risking it.

He was expecting you to refuse him on the spot, but instead two words came out that almost made him go “holy shit”.

“You’re hired.”

You’re. Hired. He could die.

“I-I’m sorry, Madam President, I’m what?” He practically gasped, hands clutching the arms of his seat, watching you take out some already prepared parole papers and walking to the door in your heels, handing the file to one of the service agents.

“Hired.” You said simply, a shrug and a smile offered as you walked to the desk. Fucking hell, Dean had never seen a stranger president in his life. “Your parole is being passed effective immediately, and I wanna get you in touch with my stylist and wardrobe guy so we can get you some new and frankly more comfortable clothes. You’ll be staying here, at the White House, you’ll have full access to my staff for anything you might need, but most importantly, you need to call your family.” You tapped your landline that you had prepared on the desk with a small, encouraging smile. “I have Sam’s number and the rehab centre’s number both in your directory file, I’ll give you some time to talk rather than waiting like a creep.”

As you walked out, Dean couldn’t believe his ears. He was now the President’s bodyguard, he got to live in luxury, no doubt there was a large paycheck and he got to call Sammy again. His Sammy, oh, holy shit.

His hand shook as he reached for the landline, opening the file and there it was, Sam’s number, and it’d changed since he got put in prison a good six months ago. His fingers fumbled, clumsily dialling the number and waiting a moment as the dial tone stopped and the ringing shook his eardrum. Please pick up, please pick up, please pick up, please pick up—

“Hello?” Dean’s heart broke upon hearing Sam’s voice again, and he took a shaky breath. Get a grip, Winchester, it’s only your little brother, the man you raised your while life.

“Bitch.” His voice sounded like he’d smoked cigarettes, and he’d quit that habit after high school, but all he could hear was the dead silence of realisation on the other side.

“Jerk.”

The motorcade pulled up to the white-brick colonial house just as the late afternoon sun began to dip behind the row of oaks lining the driveway. You leaned back in your seat, letting out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding. For months now, your life had been a whirlwind of campaign rallies, debates, and sleepless nights in cramped hotels. It all felt surreal. You were the President of the United States. Yet, somehow, coming home to this house—the one you’d grown up in—was what made it all feel real.

Secret Service agents stepped out first, scanning the quiet suburban neighborhood for threats. You glanced out the tinted window, catching a glimpse of the familiar front porch where your father had painted the railing a deep blue years ago. The door creaked open, and a small figure darted out onto the lawn before anyone could stop him.

“Austin!”

The call came from Eden, your sister-in-law, who appeared a moment later, balancing baby Wyatt on her hip. She looked harried but happy, waving at you from the porch. Austin, however, was already halfway to the car, his untied sneakers slapping against the pavement.

You smiled despite yourself. Rolling down the window, you called out, “Hold on, buddy, let them do their job.”

The boy skidded to a stop as one of the agents gently but firmly intercepted him, patting him on the shoulder and guiding him back toward the porch. Austin complied, but his excitement was evident in every bouncing step.

By the time you exited the car, your father, Mark, was standing on the porch steps, arms crossed but with a wide grin splitting his face. “There she is,” he said, his voice booming with pride. “Madame President.”

You felt your cheeks flush as you climbed the steps. “Dad, don’t start.”

“Oh, I’ll start, alright,” he said, pulling you into a tight hug. “My daughter, the leader of the free world! They’re gonna need to expand that Oval Office just to fit my pride.”

“Mark, give her some room to breathe,” your mother, Odette, chided as she stepped outside. She was smaller than you remembered, her hair streaked with more gray than the last time you’d seen her. But her smile was as warm as ever. She held her arms open, and you leaned into her familiar embrace, the scent of lavender and vanilla washing over you.

“It’s good to see you, Mom,” you murmured.

“We’re so proud of you,” she said softly, pulling back to study your face. “But I bet you’re exhausted.”

You nodded, glancing over her shoulder to see your older brother Ryan descending the stairs, a grin on his face. “Well, well, look who decided to come back down to earth,” he teased, reaching out to clap you on the shoulder.

“Someone’s gotta keep you grounded,” you shot back, the familiar rhythm of sibling banter falling into place as though no time had passed.

Eden appeared beside him, Wyatt still on her hip. She offered you a smile, and you leaned in to kiss her cheek. “How’s this little guy doing?” you asked, reaching out to tickle Wyatt’s chin. The baby let out a squeal of laughter, his chubby arms flailing.

“He’s teething,” Eden said with a weary smile. “So, you know…living the dream.”

Austin, who had been hovering impatiently at the edge of the group, finally couldn’t contain himself. “Auntie!” he shouted, throwing his arms around your waist.

“Hey, kiddo,” you said, ruffling his hair. “What’s new?”

“I got an A on my science project!” he said, looking up at you with bright eyes.

“That’s great!” you said. “What was the project?”

“Volcanoes,” he said, puffing out his chest. “Dad helped me with the lava.”

Ryan coughed. “Helped is a strong word. He mostly just told me what to do.”

“That’s because you were doing it wrong!” Austin protested, and the group dissolved into laughter.

Inside, the house was exactly as you remembered it. The worn hardwood floors creaked under your feet, and the faint scent of your mother’s cooking lingered in the air. The walls were covered with family photos—some old, some new—including one of you on election night, surrounded by your team, your face frozen in an expression of shock and joy.

Dinner was already laid out on the long wooden table in the dining room. A roast chicken sat in the center, surrounded by bowls of mashed potatoes, green beans, and your mother’s famous macaroni casserole. It was a far cry from the catered meals you’d been eating on the campaign trail, and your stomach growled in anticipation.

“Let’s eat before it gets cold,” Odette said, ushering everyone to their seats.

You took your usual spot, sandwiched between Austin and your father, while Ryan carved the chicken. Plates were passed around, and soon the room was filled with the clatter of silverware and the hum of conversation.

Mark raised his glass of water. “A toast,” he said, his voice cutting through the din. “To my daughter. The first woman to sit in the Oval Office. You’ve made us all so proud.”

“Here, here!” Ryan chimed in, lifting his own glass.

You felt a lump rise in your throat as you clinked glasses with everyone around the table. For a moment, the weight of your responsibilities seemed to lift, replaced by the simple joy of being surrounded by the people who had always believed in you.

After dinner, you helped your mother clear the table, despite her protests. “You’re the President now,” she said, swatting your hands away from the plates. “You don’t need to be doing dishes.”

“Maybe not,” you said, grinning. “But I don’t think I’ve outgrown being your daughter.”

She relented, shaking her head with a fond smile, and the two of you worked side by side in comfortable silence. When the last dish was put away, you found yourself drawn to the living room, where the rest of the family had gathered.

Ryan was sprawled on the couch, flipping through a photo album with Austin perched beside him. Eden sat in the armchair, rocking Wyatt to sleep, while Mark stood by the fireplace, nursing a cup of coffee.

You sank into the armchair opposite Eden, your eyes drawn to the flickering flames in the hearth. “It feels good to be home,” you said softly.

Mark looked over at you, his expression thoughtful. “You’ve got a hell of a road ahead of you, kid,” he said. “But don’t forget—you’ve got us. We’re here for you, no matter what.”

You nodded, feeling the truth of his words settle in your chest. “I know,” you said. “And I’m going to need that. All of it.”

Ryan looked up from the photo album, a mischievous glint in his eye. “Think we’ll get to visit the White House? Austin’s dying to see the bowling alley.”

Austin’s head snapped up. “There’s a bowling alley?”

You laughed. “There is. And yeah, you’ll all come visit. But I can’t promise I’ll have much time for bowling.”

“Why not?” Austin asked, his brow furrowing. “You’re the President. Can’t you just…make time?”

The simplicity of his question made you smile. “It’s a little more complicated than that, buddy,” you said. “But I’ll do my best.”

Later that night, after the house had quieted and everyone had gone to bed, you found yourself standing in the backyard. The air was crisp and cool, and the stars above were brighter than you remembered. You wrapped your arms around yourself, feeling the enormity of your new role settle over you like a heavy cloak.

The back door creaked open, and Mark stepped outside, a blanket draped over his shoulders. He joined you on the porch, handing you a steaming mug of tea.

“Couldn’t sleep?” he asked.

You shook your head. “Too much on my mind.”

Mark nodded, staring out at the dark yard. “It’s a big job,” he said. “But if anyone can handle it, it’s you.”

“I hope so,” you said quietly.

He placed a hand on your shoulder, his grip firm and reassuring. “You’ve got what it takes,” he said. “And you’ve got us. Don’t forget that.”

You looked up at him, your heart swelling with gratitude. “Thanks, Dad.”

He smiled, pulling the blanket tighter around himself. “Come on,” he said, gesturing toward the house. “You’ve got a long day ahead of you tomorrow. Let’s get some sleep.”

As you followed him inside, you felt a sense of peace you hadn’t felt in months. No matter how hard the road ahead might be, you knew you wouldn’t be walking it alone.

The Oval Office was as grand as you’d imagined—perhaps even more so. Its high, curved ceilings and rich, historic decor exuded authority, yet the warmth of the afternoon sunlight filtering through the tall windows softened the edges, giving the room an almost serene quality.

You sat at the Resolute Desk, a stack of documents waiting for your signature. Each one bore the weight of history. Education reforms. Trade agreements. Environmental policies. Every flick of your pen carried consequences that rippled far beyond the iconic walls of this room.

Across the room, Becky, your ever-efficient assistant, was perched on the edge of one of the armchairs, tablet in hand. “After this meeting with the education committee, you’ve got a fifteen-minute break before the press briefing,” she said, scrolling rapidly through the day’s schedule. “Then at three, there’s the Cabinet discussion on infrastructure. And don’t forget the call with the German Chancellor at four.”

“Got it,” you replied, signing your name with a practiced flourish. “Anything else?”

Becky hesitated, glancing at her screen. “Oh, and your new personal bodyguard will be arriving shortly. Dean Winchester.”

You kept your expression neutral, though you’d been briefed extensively on this particular appointment. A former hitman, Dean’s resume wasn’t exactly typical for someone tasked with protecting the President. But his unconventional background—and the skillset that came with it—was exactly why he’d been chosen.

“Right,” you said, setting your pen down. “I’ve read his file. Has he been through security clearance?”

“Thoroughly vetted,” Becky assured you. “And cleared. He should be here any moment.”

You nodded, brushing a strand of hair from your face. “Let’s hope he lives up to the hype.”

Just as Becky opened her mouth to reply, the door opened.

You looked up, and the words you were about to say caught in your throat.

Dean Winchester strode into the room with the kind of presence that made people stop and take notice. He was tall, broad-shouldered, and carried himself with a casual confidence that hinted at years of facing danger head-on. He wore a dark gray suit that was tailored just enough to highlight his powerful frame but not so tight as to make him look polished or delicate. The crisp white shirt underneath contrasted against his tanned skin, and his black tie was slightly loosened, as if he’d deliberately left it that way.

Despite the formal attire, there was an undeniable ruggedness about him. His short, tousled hair was just slightly too messy to be regulation, and the shadow of stubble along his jaw added an edge that no amount of tailoring could hide. His green eyes, sharp and assessing, swept the room before landing on you.

You found yourself momentarily distracted by the way the suit accentuated his broad chest and tapered waist. It was a rare thing for someone to wear something so formal yet exude the kind of raw, unrefined masculinity that Dean seemed to embody.

“Madame President,” he said, his voice low and gravelly as he stopped a respectful distance from your desk.

You forced yourself to refocus, clearing your throat as you rose from your seat. “Mr. Winchester.” You allowed yourself a small smile, noting the way his gaze remained steady but professional. “You clean up well.”

A flicker of amusement crossed his face. “Thanks. I aim to please.”

Becky glanced between the two of you before standing. “I’ll step out and make sure everything’s ready for the committee meeting,” she said, gathering her tablet.

“Thanks, Becky,” you said, watching her leave before turning back to Dean.

For a moment, the room felt smaller. His presence was magnetic, and you couldn’t help but take him in once more, your gaze lingering on the way his shoulders filled out the suit jacket, the way his long fingers rested casually at his sides, the way they gripped his chair as he sat down. You snapped your attention back to his face before he could notice.

Dean leaned back slightly in the chair, taking in the sight of you as you scanned your schedule on the tablet in front of you. The soft lighting of the Oval Office seemed to highlight the sharp lines of your features, and the way you carried yourself—confident, composed, entirely in command—struck him in a way he hadn’t expected.

He’d done his research, of course. He knew your career milestones, your policies, even a few of your personal quirks. But seeing you in person was different. The photographs didn’t do you justice.

As you spoke, your voice clear and firm, Dean found himself watching the curve of your lips, the subtle tilt of your head when you emphasized a point. You had a presence that filled the room, a quiet strength that made it impossible to look away.

“Your main job,” you were saying, “is to ensure my safety, both here and when I travel. You’ll coordinate with the Secret Service, but your focus will be on close-range protection. You’ll accompany me to all public appearances, meetings, and events.”

Dean nodded, forcing himself to focus on your words rather than the way your blouse fit perfectly beneath your blazer. “Understood. Anything specific I should know about your routine?”

You looked up, meeting his gaze. “It varies. I keep a tight schedule, but unexpected situations come up all the time. You’ll need to be adaptable.”

“I’m good at that,” Dean said, his tone confident but not cocky.

“Good.” You swiped at the tablet, then set it down on the desk. “I’ve read your file. Your skillset is…impressive.”

He tilted his head slightly, a faint smirk playing on his lips. “That’s one way to put it.”

You arched an eyebrow, your lips curving into a wry smile. “I’d call it unconventional, but that seems to be exactly what I need.”

Dean’s gaze flicked over you again, this time lingering on the curve of your jawline, the way your fingers tapped lightly against the edge of the desk. He’d worked with plenty of high-profile people before, but you were in a league of your own.

“Anything else I should be aware of?” he asked, his voice low.

You tilted your head, considering him for a moment. “You’re going to see me at my best and my worst,” you said plainly. “Long hours, high stress, bad days, good days. It comes with the territory.”

Dean nodded. “I’m here to do my job, ma’am. Whatever it takes.”

Something in his tone made you pause, your gaze sharpening as you studied him. “You’ve been in worse situations, haven’t you?”

“Let’s just say I’m no stranger to high stakes,” he replied, his smirk returning.

You leaned back in your chair, satisfied. “Good. I’ll need someone who can keep a cool head under pressure. And someone who doesn’t mind telling me the hard truth when I need to hear it.”

Dean’s smirk widened slightly. “I can handle that.”

The conversation shifted to logistics—your upcoming travel schedule, security protocols, and daily routines. Dean asked a few questions, his tone professional, but you couldn’t shake the feeling that he was studying you as much as he was listening.

If you noticed the way his eyes dipped to your collarbone when you leaned forward to make a point, or how his gaze lingered on the curve of your wrist as you gestured, you didn’t let on. You were focused, deliberate, every bit the commander-in-chief he’d expected.

When the meeting wrapped up, you stood and extended a hand again. “Welcome aboard, Dean. I look forward to working with you.”

Dean rose, his hand engulfing yours once more. “The pleasure’s mine, ma’am.”

As he turned to leave, you called after him, “And Dean?”

He paused, glancing over his shoulder.

“You really do look good in that suit.”

He chuckled softly, shaking his head as he left the room, the door clicking shut behind him.

Alone again, you returned to your desk, your mind already shifting to the next task. But for a moment, you allowed yourself a small smile.

It was going to be an interesting partnership.

“Ok, excuse me?” Bella had practically squealed when the door to your bedroom behind you, her and Steph had been shut by Dean, who was now waiting outside to give you some privacy, and thank God those walls were thick enough to hide this conversation. “You didn’t tell us your bodyguard was a Ben Affleck and Brad Pitt combo.”

Steph scoffed, shaking her head. “Girl, no. He’s better than that, he puts Adonis to shame— where’s he been hiding?” They both turned to you expectantly, clearly not aware that your Adonis-transcendent bodyguard was fresh out of the United States Penitentiary, Administrative Maximum Facility. Oh, that’s gonna be a hard pill to swallow, right?

“Prison.” You swallowed, clearing your throat awkwardly upon saying it, cause you weren’t often the bringer of news that a guy like Dean used to be a prolific criminal who kills for money. “ADX Florence. An ex-hitman, to be clear, with over 100 kills in the past two years.”

“So he’s a bad boy.” Bella giggled, clearly not phased, which kind of concerned you with which brain they both were thinking from, and hopefully not the downstairs one. “Even better, oh my god, I was getting worried he’s a goodie.”

Steph raised an eyebrow, her lips curling into a sly grin. “Right? Like, you can’t just drop ‘ex-hitman with over 100 kills’ and not expect us to have questions. Or fantasies.”

“Steph!” you choked, glancing toward the door as if Dean could hear through the thick walls.

“What? I’m just saying!” She crossed her arms, leaning back against the bedpost. “Honestly, though? He’s got that whole ‘dark past but reformed bad boy’ thing going for him. You’re living every romance novel heroine’s dream.”

Bella, not to be outdone, clutched at her chest dramatically. “Forget romance novels—I’d climb him like a tree. That man looks like he could bench press me and not even break a sweat.”

You groaned, burying your face in your hands. “Can we not?”

“We absolutely can,” Bella countered, her voice rising with glee. “Seriously, you’ve got the hottest bodyguard in the country, and you didn’t think we needed to know this? Girl, where’s your sense of sisterhood?”

Steph was nodding in agreement. “Yeah, you’re withholding important information. Like, what’s he like in person? Is he all business, or does he have that smoldering, ‘I could kill you, but I won’t’ energy?”

Your cheeks burned, both from their shameless gushing and the mental image Steph’s words conjured. “He’s…fine. Professional.”

“‘Professional,’ she says,” Bella snorted. “Professional at looking fine as hell, maybe.” She leaned in conspiratorially, lowering her voice. “Come on. What’s he like? Does he flirt? Does he give you those ‘I’m secretly in love with you’ stares when you’re not looking?”

You glared at her. “No. Absolutely not. He’s just doing his job.”

“Sure he is,” Steph said with a smirk, clearly not buying it. “But don’t think we didn’t notice the way he looked at you when he shut the door earlier.”

You blinked. “What? He didn’t—”

“Oh, honey,” Bella interrupted, waving her hand dramatically. “He totally did. That man looked at you like you were the last piece of chocolate cake at a birthday party. And don’t even get me started on how he stood. You know, all broody and protective, like some kind of…” She trailed off, searching for the right words.

“Alpha wolf guarding his mate,” Steph supplied helpfully.

“Exactly!” Bella snapped her fingers. “Thank you, Steph. That’s exactly the vibe.”

You groaned again, resisting the urge to bang your head against the nearest wall. “You two need help.”

“What we need,” Steph said, grinning wickedly, “is for you to admit that you’ve at least thought about it. Because if you haven’t, you’re lying.”

“I haven’t!” you protested, a little too quickly.

Bella’s eyes lit up like she’d just won the lottery. “Oh my God, you totally have! Look at you—your ears are turning red.”

“Leave me alone,” you muttered, glaring at the floor.

But they weren’t about to let you off the hook.

“Okay, okay,” Steph said, holding up a hand as if to calm the chaos. “Let’s be serious for a second. He’s obviously gorgeous, and clearly there’s some��tension. But what’s the story? Like, how did you even end up with him as your bodyguard? I feel like there’s a Netflix series waiting to happen here.”

You hesitated, weighing how much to tell them. “It’s…complicated. He was recommended through some very high-level channels. Apparently, he’s the best at what he does.”

“And what he does is kill people,” Bella said, her voice dripping with mock solemnity.

You shot her a look. “Not anymore. He’s reformed. He went through a rigorous vetting process before he was even considered for the position.”

Steph tilted her head, her curiosity piqued. “So, he’s done bad things, but now he’s protecting the President of the United States. That’s a redemption arc if I’ve ever heard one.”

Bella sighed wistfully. “And he’s doing it all while looking like a Calvin Klein model who got lost on his way to the shoot.”

“Can we not turn this into a thirst-fest?” you pleaded, though you knew it was a losing battle.

Bella leaned closer, her eyes twinkling with mischief. “Oh, sweetie. It’s already a thirst-fest. You’re just in denial.”

The conversation spiraled from there, with Bella and Steph taking turns crafting increasingly absurd fantasies about Dean’s hypothetical love life.

“He probably has a tragic backstory,” Bella said dreamily, lying back on the bed. “Like, maybe he lost the love of his life in some tragic accident, and now he’s sworn to protect others to atone for his past.”

“Or,” Steph countered, “he’s secretly a billionaire who does this for the adrenaline rush. Like, by day he’s your bodyguard, but by night he’s funding orphanages and saving puppies.”

Bella clapped her hands. “Yes! And in his free time, he restores classic cars and writes poetry.”

You stared at them, equal parts amused and horrified. “You two have officially lost it.”

“Or,” Steph said, ignoring you entirely, “he’s secretly in love with you, and this whole bodyguard thing is just an excuse to be close to you.”

Bella gasped, sitting up suddenly. “Steph, that’s it! That’s the one!”

You buried your face in your hands. “I regret ever letting you meet him.”

“Don’t be like that,” Bella said, patting your shoulder. “We’re just saying—you’re sitting on a goldmine of romantic potential here. If you don’t at least consider it, we will.”

“Noted,” you said dryly, standing up and heading for the door. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have actual work to do. Unlike you two.”

Bella and Steph exchanged knowing looks as you opened the door to find Dean standing just outside, his arms crossed and his expression unreadable.

He straightened slightly when you stepped into the hallway, his eyes meeting yours. “Everything okay?”

“Fine,” you said quickly, avoiding his gaze as you brushed past him.

But as you walked away, you couldn’t shake the feeling that Steph and Bella might have been onto something.

The drive to Sam’s place was smooth, the kind of easy journey Dean Winchester hadn’t experienced in years. Maybe ever. The hum of the Impala’s engine, a comforting growl beneath him, was as close to peace as Dean could imagine. His day off had finally rolled around, and he hadn’t hesitated to decide how he’d spend it.

Sam had settled in a quiet neighborhood outside Washington, D.C., where tree-lined streets and neat, white-picket fences painted a picture of suburban serenity. It was a far cry from the lives they’d led growing up, but Dean couldn’t deny it suited his little brother.

Pulling up to the house, Dean killed the engine and climbed out, adjusting his leather jacket as he took in the sight. The two-story home was modest but inviting, with a tidy lawn and a swing set in the backyard visible through the side gate. He could hear faint laughter—probably from Dean Jr., Sam and Jess’s kid, who, much to Dean’s delight, was his namesake.

Dean’s boots crunched against the gravel path as he approached the front door. Before he could knock, it swung open, and Sam stood there, looking every bit the family man.

“Dean,” Sam greeted, his face lighting up in a grin. “Right on time.”

“Of course,” Dean said, stepping inside. “I’m punctual now. Didn’t you hear? I’ve got a government job.”

Sam chuckled, clapping Dean on the shoulder as he shut the door behind him. “I’m still getting used to the idea.”

Inside, the house was warm and lived-in. Pictures adorned the walls—Jess and Sam on their wedding day, little Dean Jr. blowing out candles on a birthday cake, snapshots of family trips to the beach. The scent of something delicious wafted from the kitchen, and Dean’s stomach growled in response.

“Jess is cooking?” Dean asked, raising an eyebrow.

“She insists,” Sam replied with a shrug. “Says you need a proper meal after all that ‘White House food.’”

Dean smirked. “Tell her I’m not gonna argue with that.”

Jess appeared moments later, wiping her hands on a kitchen towel. She was glowing, as she always seemed to be, her blonde hair pulled into a loose ponytail and her smile bright enough to light up the room.

“Dean!” she exclaimed, pulling him into a quick hug. “It’s been too long.”

“Too long,” Dean agreed, glancing over her shoulder. “Where’s the rugrat?”

As if on cue, the sound of small feet thudding down the stairs filled the house. Dean Jr. appeared, his face lighting up when he saw his uncle. The kid was a spitting image of Sam, with floppy brown hair and wide hazel eyes, but he had Dean’s mischievous grin.

“Uncle Dean!”

“Dean-o!” Dean crouched, catching the boy as he barreled into him. “What’s up, kiddo? You keeping your old man in line?”

Dean Jr. nodded enthusiastically. “Dad says you work for the President now. Is that true?”

Dean ruffled the boy’s hair. “Sure is. Cool, huh?”

“Super cool,” Dean Jr. said, his eyes wide with awe.

“Alright, enough hero worship,” Sam teased, though his smile betrayed how much he enjoyed seeing his son and brother bond. “Come on, dinner’s almost ready.”

The meal was hearty—roast chicken, mashed potatoes, and vegetables—and filled with easy conversation. Dean filled them in on the basics of his new job, skirting around the grittier details of his past. Sam and Jess shared stories about their life, from Jess’s latest work project to Dean Jr.’s adventures in Little League.

It was only after the dishes were cleared and Jess had taken Dean Jr. upstairs to bed that the conversation turned serious.

The brothers sat in the living room, each nursing a beer. The light from the fireplace cast a warm glow, and the house was quiet except for the occasional creak of the floorboards above.

“So,” Sam began, leaning back on the couch, “you gonna tell me how this happened?”

Dean took a long swig of his beer, then set the bottle down on the coffee table. “What, me working for the President? Thought you already knew.”

“I know the headlines,” Sam said, his brow furrowing. “But what I don’t know is how you went from ADX Florence to the White House.”

Dean sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Figured you’d ask eventually.”

“Of course I’d ask.” Sam’s voice was gentle but firm. “You were in prison, Dean. The kind of prison people don’t just walk out of.”

“Yeah, well.” Dean leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “It started with a newspaper.”

Sam blinked. “A newspaper?”

Dean nodded. “I was in my cell, flipping through this paper someone left behind. Saw an ad for a private security position with the President. They were looking for someone who could think outside the box, someone with…unconventional skills.”

Sam’s eyebrows shot up. “And you thought, ‘Hey, that sounds like me’?”

“Something like that.” Dean’s lips twitched into a faint smirk. “Figured I didn’t have much to lose, so I wrote up a resume. Handed it off to my lawyer, told him to file it.”

Sam stared at him, his disbelief evident. “And they just…hired you?”

“No,” Dean said with a chuckle. “They didn’t even call me at first. Took weeks before I heard anything. When they finally did, they put me through the wringer—interviews, background checks, psych evaluations. The works.”

“And they still hired you?” Sam asked, shaking his head in amazement.

“Guess they figured my track record spoke for itself,” Dean said, his tone turning more serious. “I’ve done things, Sam. Bad things. But I’ve also done what needed to be done when no one else could. They saw that.”

Sam was quiet for a moment, processing his brother’s words. “And now you’re protecting the most powerful person in the world.”

Dean nodded. “Guess you could say I’m making up for lost time.”

Sam studied his brother, his expression thoughtful. “You know, Jess and I were talking about you the other night. About how far you’ve come. We’re proud of you, Dean.”

Dean shifted uncomfortably, not used to hearing such straightforward praise. “Don’t get all mushy on me, Sammy.”

Sam chuckled, shaking his head. “I’m serious. You’ve been through hell and back, and somehow you’re still standing.”

Dean took another sip of his beer, his gaze distant. “Yeah, well. Standing’s about all I’m good at.”

“That’s not true,” Sam said firmly. “You’ve got a purpose now. A second chance. Don’t sell yourself short.”

Dean glanced at his brother, a small, genuine smile tugging at his lips. “Thanks, Sammy.”

Sam returned the smile, then leaned back with a sigh. “So, what’s she like? The President.”

Dean hesitated, caught off guard by the question. “She’s…different.”

“Different how?”

“She’s smart. Sharp as hell. Tough, but not in a fake way. And she actually listens, which is more than I can say for most people in her position.”

Sam raised an eyebrow. “Sounds like you respect her.”

“I do,” Dean admitted.

“And for your type…” Sam smirked, his voice taking on a teasing tone. “She’s pretty hot.”

Dean nearly choked on his beer. “Sam!”

“What?” Sam asked, feigning innocence. “I’m just saying. You’ve got a thing for strong women, and she sounds like she fits the bill.”

Dean shook his head, trying to suppress a laugh. “You’re impossible.”

“Hey, I’m just calling it like I see it,” Sam said with a grin. “Besides, you deserve someone who can keep up with you.”

Dean rolled his eyes, but he couldn’t deny the warmth that spread through him at his brother’s words.

The rest of the evening passed in easy conversation, the kind that only happened between brothers who’d been through it all together. When Dean finally stood to leave, Sam walked him to the door, clapping him on the shoulder as he stepped outside.

“Take care of yourself, Dean,” Sam said, his voice quiet but steady.

“You too, Sammy,” Dean replied, his gaze lingering on his brother’s home—the warmth, the love, the life Sam had built.

As Dean climbed into the Impala and drove away, he couldn’t help but feel a strange sense of hope. Maybe, just maybe, there was a place for him in this world after all.

NEXT UP:

“Dean,” you said, a touch of surprise in your voice. “I thought you were on your break.”

He didn’t reply right away. Instead, his gaze locked with yours, and the air seemed to thicken. There was something different about him—an intensity in his expression, a flicker of something unspoken.

Without a word, he reached up and tugged at his tie, loosening it further before slipping it over his head and tossing it onto one of the chairs.

Your eyebrows shot up. “What are you doing?”

Dean didn’t answer. He shrugged out of his suit jacket next, draping it over the back of a chair with deliberate ease. His movements were slow, calculated, and impossibly confident.

“Dean?” you repeated, your voice catching slightly.

His shirt followed. Button by button, he undid it with maddening patience, his green eyes never leaving yours. Your breath hitched as he peeled it off, revealing the broad, chiseled planes of his chest and the faint scars that crisscrossed his skin—a testament to a dangerous past.

By the time his hands went to his belt, your pulse was racing.

“What are you—” you began, but the words died in your throat as he stepped forward.

In one smooth motion, Dean swept the documents off your desk, scattering them across the floor. He leaned down, his hands bracketing you on either side as he effortlessly lifted you onto the polished wood surface.

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1lizard-onemonkey · 6 months ago

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I made mention before of the gates, but they could still be two different gates

The first is at the front of the school

The second is close to the hide out or in view of it

But i want to talk about the design of the second gate

It's similar to the logo (that's what it's called, right?)

But in place of the wings, they look to be tentacles

At first I thought it was wings on a down stroke or something, but no, those are tentacles, there's eight of them

So between the logo, a combination of Annabel's Spectre and probably Lenore's (it'll be a big surprise if she doesn't have wings in some way) and the metalwork of the gate, which could be based of the Deans, it just adds another connection between the four, or maybe give some insight into who the Deans are? Maybe foreshadowing? Or is it just a cool looking gate? Maybe hearts are just an important symbol in the story so there'll be a bunch of images of them? We'll see

#1lom post #nevermore webtoon #lenore vandernacht #annabel lee whitlock #merry nevermore #mourn nevermore #merry and mourn nevermore

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scarletqueenx · 27 days ago

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chapter eleven - danger zone

Dean Winchester x Female Reader

Summary: Dean and you had dated for a few months before his father disappeared and his journey with Sam began. Now, having made a deal to save his brother's life and with only a year to live, Dean considers reconnecting with the only girl he's ever had feelings for. You.

Author’s Note: English is not my first language. This is my first time writing in the readers perspective, as i'm used to write oc´s.

series masterlist

You were in the middle of a nightmare while asleep in the Impala's back seats when the ringing of your phone woke you up. Although to Dean and Sam it looked like you were sleeping peacefully, the memories inside your head wouldn't leave you alone. And just as he had done the night from which all those bad dreams came, this time it was also your father who woke you up.

Henry had an idea.

It was an idea that solved one of your greatest fears. What if a demon possessed you? You didn't want to end up like Carter. You didn't want to hurt anyone.

But the solution your father was proposing also forced you to face another of your fears. A more common, mundane one. Stupid compared to the other. But still, you felt the anxiety run down your spine as you let an unknown man, full of tattoos, put one on you.

It had been pathetic, you thought. How you'd looked at Dean with teary eyes, pleading for him to hold your hand in an even more pathetic silence. You had a habit of playing tough. It was in the DNA of older siblings, you assumed all your life. You never asked for help for anything and Dean knew that. But he also knew the look you'd given him that night in the tattoo store. So accepting your silent plea, Dean intertwined his hand with yours as he gave you a small reassuring smile. His touch like a soothing to your pain and fears. You felt safe as that scary needle stabbed your skin multiple times to imprint that strange drawing on your back.

Dean and Sam were the next to get the same symbol tattooed, this time is their chest. Right on the side of their hearts. Both facing that situation with much more composure than you. Or than your little brother.

"But... tattoos hurt, don't they?" Peter shifted nervously next to Maddie as they walked into that tattoo store in San Francisco.

"It depends on where you put it." She replied. Peter nodded slightly as his head continued to race with thoughts.

"I just don't understand why we have to do this. My father said there are charms."

"He also said it's easy to get them taken away from you."

"Yeah, but... You didn't want to have anything to do with this world. Why would you let them put a mark on you that would remind you forever of what happened? About your mother, about the other night?" Peter asked, genuinely confused.

"I'm going to remember it anyway." Maddie shrugged. "At least this way I'll be safe."

"Even if they can't possess you they'll still be able to attack you, you know that, right?"

His words were like knives through her chest. Of course she knew that, but to think that tattoo would be the solution to all her problems made her feel somehow better. Even if it was only for a few days, hours, seconds.

"I know you're scared, but you don't have to be a jerk about it."

Peter immediately felt bad when he saw the pain in the her eyes. He had seen that look before in other people. Every friend he ever had would end up walking away from him with that same look in their eyes. Peter was his own self-destruct button. You were the only one who had never left his side despite how badly he sometimes treated you.

But for the first time, Peter didn't want to lose a friend that way either. So he reached out to Maddie and grabbed her hand, giving it a squeeze.

Surprised by the gesture, Maddie turned to him, seeing the look of regret in his eyes. She quickly gave him a reassuring smile, tightening her grip on his hand to make sure he knew that everything was okay and she wouldn't leave his side.

Her hand remained clasped in his as the tattoo was being done. Because if there was one thing the three Holloway siblings had in common, it was their fear of needles.

─── ❖ ── ✦ ── ❖ ───

Bela had a funny way of making the Winchesters' lives impossible. First she stole the Colt from them. Which left them without a weapon to kill demons if it weren't for the fact that they still had your knife. And then, just when they finally thought they had found her, she had exposed them to the police. To an agent especially determined to find them after they had committed illegal actions to solve two supernatural cases that were very difficult to explain to someone who had nothing to do with that world.

Now, Agent Henriksen wasn't looking for you for any reason, but being with two criminals like the Winchester brothers gave him the authority to arrest you as well.

He seemed very pleased watching them from outside the cell of that police station in Monument, Colorado.

"You know what I'm trying to decide?" Henriksen asked.

"I don't know. What? Whether Cialis will help you with your little condition?" Dean said sitting next to you.

"What to have for dinner tonight." He corrected. "Steak or lobster, what the hell, surf and turf." He smiled while Dean smirked cynically. "I got a lot to celebrate. I mean, after all, seeing you two in chains..."

"You kinky son of a bitch. We don't swing that way."

"Now, that's funny."

"You know, I wouldn't bust out the melted butter just yet. Couldn't catch us at the bank, couldn't keep us in that jail." Dean pointed out.

"You're right. Screwed up. I underestimated you." Henriksen admitted. "I didn't count on you being that smart but now I'm ready."

"Yeah, ready to lose us again?" Dean raised his eyebrows

"Ready like a court order to keep you in a Supermaximum prison in Nevada till trial. Ready like isolation in a soundproof, windowless cell, so that between you and me... probably unconstitutional."

Sam and Dean looked at him in silence, realizing that Henriksen was in fact been serious.

You on the other hand felt strangely calm. Henriksen had nothing on you other than having found you with two criminals who had escaped from a prison. Meaning, you could lie and say you had been kidnapped, although that didn't make much sense given the close relationship you seemed to have with the Winchester brothers. Stockholm Syndrome, you could plead. If they set you free you could look for a way to free Dean and Sam. Though that didn't seem very possible if they were put in such a secure prison as Henriksen was describing.

"How's that for ready?" Dean remained silent at his question. As he also tried not to show any expression of fear or defeat. "Take a good look at Sam – you two will never see each other again."

Sam and Dean stayed silence as they looked at Henriksen, disconcerted.

"Now, you." Henriksen turned to you. His eyes scanning you, looking for anything that would confirm that you were just as guilty as them. "What are you, the smart girl hacking and helping from the outside, huh? You got them out of that bank and that jail, didn't you?"

Letting out a sigh, you shifted in your seat, raising your gaze to him.

"I'm sure you'd love for my answer to be yes, but you're wrong. I barely know them." You said in a calm tone.

"Oh, is that so?" He raised his eyebrows skeptically. You nodded. "Well, that may be true, but it doesn't erase your past. Tell me, does this sound familiar?" He questioned, pulling a page of an old newspaper from the inside pocket of his suit. " 'On the night of May 2, 1994 Carter Holloway woke up and inexplicably began attacking and chasing his entire family around the house in what could be described as a scene from a horror movie. Laurel Holloway, his mother, was found dead in the kitchen with several stab wounds. His sister, the middle child of the couple, was found with her baby brother Peter. She was bleeding while holding the child in her arms after her brother had removed her spleen with the same knife used to stab her mother. While the father, Henry Holloway, was found in the backyard of the house, unconscious'."

Noticing the confused and doubt-filled looks from Sam and Dean, you shifted nervously in you seat. Which only confirmed to Henriksen that he was in fact right.

"There was no sign of Carter. Still to this day they hadn't found him." Henriksen continued speaking. "A lot of us cops are obsessed with this case. Why would a kid everyone described as kind and good do something like this? To the little sister that he protected and cared for so much. He had to be a psychopath who just snapped, god knows why. Maybe it runs in the family. What do you say? Was it all a plot? Did you all want your mother dead? Because if not I don't understand why your father has made sure over the years that no one remembers that tragic night."

Dean watched you closely. Noticing how you clenched your fists in frustration, how your muscles tensed and the red color of anger rose in your cheeks.

So before you snapped, Dean interrupted Henriksen's interrogation, drawing his attention back to him.

"You got the wrong guys."

"Oh, yeah. I forgot. You fight monsters." Henriksen nodded. "What? Are you going to tell me that her brother was also a monster?"

"Possessed by one." You corrected in a whisper, answering one of the many questions in Sam and Dean's heads.

"Possessed." Henriksen repeated in disbelief. "Sorry, guys. I think the truth is, your daddies brainwashed you with all that devil talk and no doubt touched you in a bad place. That's all. That's reality."

"Why don't you shut your mouth?" Dean complained, annoyed by the mention of his father.

"Well, guess what. Life sucks. Get a helmet. 'Cause everybody's got a sob story. But not everybody becomes a killer."

The sound of an approaching helicopter could be heard from outside at the same moment a shiver ran down your spine. It wasn't like the one you had felt at Mystery Spot, but it was just as disturbing.

"And now I have three less to worry about." Henriksen smiled before looking back at you. "That's right, sweetheart, three. Because thanks to you I have closed one of police's oldest cases." He looked down at his watch and tapped it. "It's surf and turf time." He laughed as he left the room.

─── ❖ ── ✦ ── ❖ ───

Dean and Sam didn't ask any questions for the next several minutes. You didn't know what was worse, the silence with which they were treating the situation or the alternative of them uttering a million questions to you. It didn't matter much either, as soon the door to the cell room opened again. You were the first to look up towards it, watching as a man entered in the company of someone you immediately recognized.

"I can walk, thank you very much." The boy grumbled as the man pushed him towards the other cell. Letting out a snort his blue eyes met the confuse gaze of his little sister. A smirk peeking through his lips as he saw you locked in a cell. "Hi, Smarty."

Dean and Sam, who watched the scene in silence, looked over at you as they noticed how you uncomfortably shifted next to them.

"I'm Deputy Director Steven Groves." The policeman spoke, closing the cell where he had locked Carter. "This is a pleasure."

"Well, glad one of us feels that way." Dean was the one to respond.

"I've been waiting a long time for you two to come out of the woodwork." Steven said as he suddenly raised his gun and shot Dean in the left shoulder. Dean grunted as he fell back, while Sam jumped up and grappled with Steven through the bars.

You had barely processed your older brother's arrival when Steven fired several more shots into the cell. Thankfully missing you as Sam gripped his arm. Regaining control of your body and mind, you leaned toward the man across the bars of the cell, beginning to recite an exorcism in Latin. That caused Steven's head to whip from side to side.

"Sorry, I've gotta cut this short. It's gonna be a long night, fellas." The demon inside him spoke as he flashed his black eyes at them before leaving Steven's body.

"Yeah that sucks." Carter commented as they watched Steven's body hit the floor. "At least he's dead."

Sam, Dean and you turned your gazes towards him just as two officers walked into the room with Henriksen behind them. Seeing the gun in Sam's hand, the latter didn't hesitate and pointed his gun at him.

"All right, put the gun down!" One of the officers yelled.

"Wait. Okay. Wait." Sam pleated as he move to put the gun down.

"He shot him!"

"I didn't shoot him, okay. I didn't shoot anyone."

"He shot me!" Dean pointed to Steven's body as you reached his side with a concerned look in your eyes.

"Get on your knees, NOW!" Henriksen exclaimed.

"Okay, okay, okay. Don't shoot. Please. Look. Here. Here." Sam did as he was told and passed the gun through the bars. "Look. We didn't shoot him. Check the body. There's no blood. We did not kill him. Go ahead, check him."

With hesitation, one of the officers decided to listen to him, kneeling down and checking Steven's body.

"Vic, there's no bullet wound." He then said.

"He's probably been dead for months." Carter said, leaning against the bars of his cell.

"What did you do to him?" Henriksen turned towards him.

Carter raised his hands.

"We didn't do anything." Dean spoke gaining his attention back.

"Talk or I shoot." Henriksen threatened, now pointing his gun at him.

"Why? You won't believe us anyway." You noted. "He was possessed."

"Possessed? Right." Henriksen scoffed. "Fire up the chopper! We're taking them out of here now."

"Yeah! Do that!" You exclaimed, starting to get angry. Still, you tried to remain calm as you tried to check Dean's wound.

"Bill?" One of officers said over the walkie-talkie. But all he received in response was static for the other end. "Bill, are you there?"

As the other agents continued with their guns pointed at the four of you, the officer left the cell room after getting a nod from Henriksen.

"They're dead. I think they're all dead." His voice came over the walkie-talkie a few minutes later. Your eyes quickly met your older brother's. Carter had taken a step back into his cell, realizing what that meant. If one demon had found them, others had too. And that scared the hell out of him.

Suddenly, a loud crash came form outside.

"What the hell was that? Reidy? Reidy?!" Henriksen asked over his walkie-talkie but no one answered him. "What the hell was that? Come in? Reidy? Reidy?"

"We're all going to die." Sam, Dean and you were able to hear Carter's mumbling more clearly once Henriksen and the officers left. The oldest of the Holloway siblings was curled up in one of the corners of his cell, his hands on his head as he slightly rocked. "We're all going to die. He's going to make me kill you all. It's like May 2, 1994 all over again. May 2, 1994 all over again."

Pulling away from Dean, you gripped the bars of the cell and looked at your older brother in pain.

"Carter, listen to me. It's not May 1994, okay? No one is going to make you do anything."

"He's going to get inside me and he's going to finish what he started that night. He's going to kill you." Carter assured sharply as his gaze rose to meet your.

You gulped harshly at his words. You blinked several times and took a step back as you remembered the night your brother was speaking of.

As soon as your back bumped against Dean's chest, you seemed to snap back to reality. Quickly, you gave him a small reassuring smile and began to treat the bullet wound on his shoulder without another word. Sam narrowed his eyes, watching you and Carter silently.

Neither he nor Dean could help but notice that that date was also significant to them. May 2 was also the youngest Winchester's birthday.

"All right, don't be such a wuss." You chuckled when Dean grunted once again.

"What's the plan? Kill everyone in the station, bust you two out?" Henriksen walked back into the room.

"What the hell are you talking about?" Dean grunted,

"I'm talking about your psycho friends. I'm talking about a blood bath."

"Okay, I promise you—whoever's out there? is not here to help us."

"Look, you got to believe us. Everyone here is in terrible danger." Sam tried to make him understand.

"You think?" Henriksen looked back at him.

"We're all going to die. He's going to kill us all." Carter mumbled once again.

"What the hell is wrong with him?" Henriksen asked, looking at him with confusion.

"What? Did you think my father put him in a mental institution just for fun? He's mentally ill and traumatized." You looked back at him.

"He shouldn't have killed your mother then." Henriksen scoffed. "Are you really defending him, after what he did to you?"

"He didn't do anything. I already told you. He was possessed." You rose back to your feet as Henriksen rolled his eyes. "Why don't you let us out of here so we can save your asses?"

"From what? You gonna say 'demons'?" Seeing that you remained silent, Henriksen snorted in frustration. "Don't you dare say 'demons'. Let me tell you something. You should be a lot more scared of me." He said before turning around and leaving.

Letting about a sigh, Sam sat next to his brother.

"How's the shoulder?" He asked.

"It's awesome." Dean answered, tossing the blood stained paper away. "I'll live. You know, if we get out of here alive. So, you got a plan?"

Sam shook his head as he checked Dean's exit wound on the back of his shoulder, which caused Dean to grimaced in pain.

Leaning against the bars of the cell, you watched your older brother with pity. You had never seen him like this. So traumatized and frightened. A part of you had always wanted to keep seeing him as the villain, but now you saw more clearly that he had just been another victim.

Then you saw her. From the corner of your eyes, you could see how the girl who clutched her rosary when Sam, Dean and you had enter the police station was now peeking around a corner, watching you from a distance.

"Hey." You spoke. Scared of being caught, the girl backed off. "Hey, uh, please. Please. We need your help. It's... it's Nancy. Nancy, right?" She kept quiet, but you were positive on your guess. "Nancy, my... my friend's been shot. He's... He's bleeding really bad. You think maybe you could get us a towel? Please? Just one clean towel? We're not the bad guys. I swear." You pleaded while Sam and Dean gave her a little smile.

Despite your efforts, Nancy kept looking scared, watching you for a few seconds before turning around and leaving.

"Nice try." Dean looked up at you.

Letting out a sigh, you sat down next to him. But then, as you turned around you saw Nancy approaching the cell with a clean towel in her hand.

"Thank you." Sam stood up as she carefully came closer. "It's okay." Sam held out his handcuffed hands.

With slow, careful movements Nancy put the towel inside the bars as Sam smiled at her. Slightly calmer, she smiled back at him. But then, suddenly, Sam grabbed Nancy's arm and dragged her against the bars.

"Let her go! Let her go!" One of the officers approached them with a rifle after hearing the girl's scream. Sam did as he was told and let go of Nancy. "You're okay, Nance?" The man asked, pointing the gun at Sam. She nodded as he looked back at Sam. "Try something again, get shot. And not in the arm."

"Okay." Sam nodded, watching them walk away.

"What the hell was that?" You hit Sam's arm in confusion.

Sam looked back at you, holding Nancy's rosary.

You sighed as Dean let out a soft chuckle. The rosary, even though it seemed useless, was your best weapon now that you knew there were demons around. And after yours had been taken away, stealing Nancy was your only option.

Sitting back down next to Dean to continue nursing his bullet wound, now with the help of that towel to stop the bleeding, you let out a deep breath.

Dean looked at you with concern.

"Are you all right?"

"Yeah, just fine. It's not like we're locked up and threatened by demons. All while Henriksen exposed my family's biggest trauma and brought in my formerly possessed, murderous and traumatized older brother." You sighed.

"Well, at least you haven't been shot." Dean commented.

"I think the shot would hurt less." You admitted, shifting your gaze to Carter.

Dean nodded slightly, looking at him for a few seconds before turning his gaze back to you.

"So this is what you've been hiding, uh?" He asked.

"Yeah." You nodded, letting out a sigh.

"Salem?"

"My father had him locked up in a mental institution to protect him. I had the great idea to visit him after more than 10 years without seeing him." You explained.

Sam, who had been listening to your conversation, sat next to you.

"Why would a demon want to kill your mother? Your whole family?" He asked with confusion.

"She broke a deal." You explained. "My mother wasn't allowed to use her magic, which belonged to Ophelia, after they brought Christine back to life after the camp massacre."

"A bit macabre, don't you think?" Dean scoffed.

"What else did you expect from demons?" You pointed out.

"They wanted to punish me too." Carter spoke, gaining their attention. "They wanted to kill Peter, punish you and transform me into one of them."

"What?" You frowned at him.

"I still don't know why, but I heard him say that in my head." He said in a low tone as he looked down at the floor. "And now they are coming for us all."

"Did you heard him say that too?" You rose to your feet alarmed. Carter nodded. "When?"

"Right now."

"Wait, what? You have some kind of connection to the demon radio?" Dean looked at him in disbelief.

"Yeah, something like that." Carter nodded with an amused smile on his lips that could only be compared with Peter's. Their resemblance brought a warm sense of familiarity to you, calming your nerves and giving you exactly what you needed to trust him.

"They could be possessing anyone now. Anyone could just walk right in." Sam said.

"It's kind of wild, right?" Dean looked back at his brother. "I mean it's like they're coming for us. They've never done that before." Dean smiled. "It's like we got a contract on us. Think it's because we're so awesome? I think it's 'cause we're so awesome." He lost his smile as soon as Sam looked at him, unamused.

You ignored their conversation, fixing your gaze on the man that had just entered the cell area. You quickly recognized him as the sheriff and thought he would ask you some questions. However, the man approached the cell where the three of you were locked up and opened it.

"Well, howdy, there, sheriff." Dean said, standing up.

"It's time to go, boys."

"Uh... you know what? We're – we're just comfy right here. But thank you." You took a step back with a little smile on your lips, trying to keep things smooth.

"What do you think you're doing?" Henriksen asked, appearing at the cell's door.

"We're not just gonna sit around here and wait to die. We're gonna make a run for it." The sheriff answered, looking back at him.

"It's safer here."

"There's a SWAT facility in Boulder."

"We're not going anywhere." Henriksen stated, coming inside the cell.

"The hell we're not." The Sheriff reached out to grab your arm, holding you tightly. But before he could do anything else Henriksen pulled out his gun and shot him in the head.

As soon as that happened, Dean and Sam grappled with Henriksen. As he tried to break free from their grip, you grabbed his head and plunged it into the toilet water. This water, now holy thanks to Nancy's rosary began to burn his skin as you said the exorcism.

Dean crouched down and grabbed Henriksen's gun to point it at the officer coming toward them with a rifle.

"Stay back!" Dean yelled at him.

The demon in Henriksen lifted his head up out of the water. Skin burning as he yelled. Replacing you, Sam shoved him back into the toilet bowl as you continued the exorcism.

"Hurry up!" Dean exclaimed as the demon lifted his head back again. His eyes completely black.

"It's too late. I already called them. They're already coming." He said before Sam shoved his head back into the water and you finished the exorcism.

Taking a step back, Henriksen screamed. Black smoke came out of his mouth, shooting up into the air vent in the ceiling.

"Is he... is he dead?" Nancy asked when she saw Henriksen's body fall to the floor. Before any of you could answer, Henriksen regained consciousness and coughed.

"Henriksen! Hey. Is that you in there?" Sam looked at him.

"I... I shot the sheriff." He mumbled as he got up to sit on the bed.

"But you didn't shoot the deputy." Dean joked with a smile and you and Sam glared at him in disbelief.

"Five minutes ago, I was fine, and then..."

"Let me guess." Carter spoke form his cell. "Some nasty black smoke jammed itself down your throat?"

Henriksen looked up at him and nodded.

"You were possessed." Sam said.

"Yeah, welcome to the club, buddy." Carter smirked.

"Possessed, like... possessed?" Henriksen looked up at Sam.

"I owe the biggest 'I told you so' ever." Dean said as he handed back his gun to him.

"Officer Amici." Henriksen stood up and addressed the other officer in the room. "Keys..." Officer Amici handed him the keys and he unlocked Sam, Dean and your chains. "All right, so how do we survive?"

─── ❖ ── ✦ ── ❖ ───

"Are you seriously going to leave me in these handcuffs?" Carter complained, following your footsteps through the police station.

"I got you out of the cell, that's the best you're going to get. Stop complaining." You replied, walking past Henriksen and Officer Phil Amici, who were preparing their guns.

"Oh, great. So your boyfriend, his brother and you can fight demons, but you leave me defenseless."

Letting out a sigh, you stopped and turned around to look at him.

"Stay by my side. If they come in, I'll take off the cuffs. I promise."

Carter narrowed his eyes, watching you for a few seconds. He could sense the lack of trust in your eyes. He couldn't blame you, he didn't trust himself either, much less with that many demons after them.

"Fine." He sighed.

Carter stood still there in the middle of the hallway while you walked over to Dean to tend his wound now that you finally had a first aid kit. It was the sound of the spray paint Sam was using to draw devil traps on every door and window that snapped him out of his thoughts and made him continue his walk to catch up with you.

"Well, that's nice. It's not gonna do much good." Dean commented as he saw Phil and Henriksen enter the room with a lot of weapons.

"We got an arsenal here." Phil said.

"You don't poke a bear with BB gun. That's just gonna make them mad."

"What do you need?" Henriksen asked.

"Salt. Lots and lots of salt."

"Salt?" Phil frowned.

"What, is there an echo in here?" You snapped at him, making him roll his eyes.

"There's road salt in the storeroom." Nancy spoke up.

"Perfect. Perfect. We need salt at every window and every door." Dean said. Henriksen and Phil left the room to get the salt, walking past Carter, who was just walking in.

"How you holdin' up, Nancy?" You asked when she handed you the tape for Dean's bandage.

"Okay." She paused "When I was little, I would come home from the church and start to talk about the devil. And my parents would tell me to stop being so literal. I guess I showed them, huh?"

"That's a good way to look at it." Carter commented, receiving a warning look from his sister. "What? I used to tell Dad that I heard voices in my head and he ignored me completely until one day that voice took over my body and..."

"Okay. I get it." You cut him off, turning your attention back to Dean's wound, placing the last piece of tape over his bandage. "That should hold."

Dean looked back at you giving you a soft smile. "Thank you."

You nodded, stepping away from him as Phil came back in the room with some bags of salt.

"Hey, where's my car?" Dean asked him.

"Impound lot out back."

"Okay." He nodded, putting on his shirt.

"Wait. You're not going out there are you?"

"Yeah, I got to get something out of my trunk." He answered, walking out of the room.

"Wait, are you serious?" You followed him with concern under the watchful eye of your older brother.

"Our weapons are there." Dean pointed out. "Your knife is there. It's the only thing that can kill demons."

You sighed, knowing he was right. "Okay, but be careful."

"I always am."

As you rolled your eyes, you let out a sigh before getting up on your tiptoes to press your lips together in a kiss.

Taken aback by that gesture, Dean took a few seconds to react, but soon his hands found your cheeks, pulling you closer to him as he deepened the kiss. It was Carter's throat clearing behind you that forced you two to separate. Annoyed by the interruption, you turned around to look at him as Dean took that as an opportunity to leave and get the weapons.

"Sorry, sis." Carter said as you let out a frustrated sigh seeing Dean leaving the police station. "I thought you might want this back."

Seeing your mother's necklace in his hands, you walked over to him to grab it, but Carter took a quick step back.

"Take off the handcuffs."

"We've been over this. Not unless it is necessary." You responded.

"It will be." He assured. "You're forgetting my... how did Dean call it? Oh, yeah, demon radio connection."

As if he had summoned him, Dean walked back into the station much faster than you expected, interrupting your discussion.

"They're coming! Hurry." He exclaimed, running past you carrying a bunch of weapons and other things in his hands.

Black smoke hit the window near Nancy, making her scream as Sam, Dean, Carter and you ran to the main office area, where Henriksen was. Without wasting another second, you pulled the handcuff keys from your pants and released your brother while Dean tossed a gun to Sam.

The lights in the main room started to flicker, making the room much darker as Nancy clutched the cross she wore around her neck. Moments later, as Dean handed you your knife, dust rained down from the ceiling and the building shook.

"Everybody okay?" Sam asked when the black smoke in the windows disappeared and everything became quiet again.

"Define 'okay'." Henriksen answered.

"All right, everybody needs to put these on." Dean turned, giving each of them a protection charm from the ones Bobby had given Sam and him. "They'll keep you from being possessed. There you go."

"You'd think Dad would have known about this kind of stuff and given one to me." Carter commented when Dean handed one to him.

As if he had opened your eyes, you turned your head to him, looking at him carefully as you took in his words. He was right.

"What about you three?" Nancy asked with concern and confusion.

Dean and Sam tugged the collar of their shirts down to show the tattoo of the protection symbol that was printed on the left side of their chest. As you came back to reality, you turned around and moved your hair out of the way to reveal the tattoo on your upper back.

"Smart." Henriksen admitted. "How long you had those?"

"Not long enough." Sam sighed.

"Yeah, definitely, as soon as I get out of here I'm getting one of those. Can I take a picture of it?" Carter looked at you.

"I'll draw it for you." You replied, walking over to one of the desks. Carter smiled, following you.

"Thanks, Smarty. I love you."

"Whatever."

─── ❖ ── ✦ ── ❖ ───

A few minutes had passed since the black smoke attack. The police station had been silent ever since and everyone had spread out around the place to cover more territory in case any of them came in.

You had decided to stay close to your brother, so at that moment you both found yourselves sitting on the floor of one of the hallways, right next to one of the entrances.

"You think Peter will like me?" Carter broke the silence between you.

"Sure, as long as he doesn't know what you did to mom." You replied with a snort. "Why do you even care? Do you really think dad will let you come back home?"

"With a tattoo like yours? Why wouldn't he?" Carter answered. "That will block the demons, right? They won't be able to possess me or get inside my head."

"I don't know." You shrugged.

"It doesn't matter. I don't know if I want to go back either." Carter admitted. "I just... Sometimes I like to think about Peter, you know? Imagine what he's like. Tell me, does he look anything like me?"

"He has your eyes. Blue as the sky."

"That's my boy." Carter smiled proudly. "Wait, don't tell me, he's blonde?"

You nodded. "And curly-haired, like dad."

"Of course he is." He sighed.

"He is like mom in so many ways." You recalled. "Too smart for his own good and full of witty ideas. He loves scary movies too."

"Of course he does, those are the best ones." Carter smiled.

"He's expanded your DVD collection, by the way."

Carter looked at you in surprise. "Dad didn't throw it away?"

You shook your head. "He told him it was Mom's."

"Well, either way. I'll probably never meet him, and if I do he'd probably hate me, but... I like knowing we have somethings in common."

You closed your eyes in frustration.

"Those demons robbed us of our childhood, of our family. Why? Why us?"

"I told you..."

"Yes, we're special. Or so they think. But... why?" You asked. "Because mom was a descendant of witches? That's Ophelia's fault to begin with."

Carter shook his head.

"I think there's more to it than that. When Dorian talked to dad the other night while he was in my body, he talked about a prophecy. He and Ophelia want to destroy God's creations."

"God's creations? Like the Heavens and the Earth?" You frowned.

"Yeah, I think so."

"That sounds like fiction."

"Sounds like an omen."

Before you could say anything there was a loud crash. Getting up to your feet, Carter and you ran into the office where Dean, Sam and Henriksen had just walked in.

"How do we kill her?" Henriksen asked pointing his rifle at the woman trapped inside a devil's trap.

"We don't." Sam answered, lowering Henriksen rifle when he recognized the woman.

Ruby.

"She's a demon." Henriksen pointed out.

"She's here to help us."

"Are you kidding?" Phil asked from around the corner, where he stood next to Nancy.

Dean and you sighed in exasperation.

"Are you gonna let me out?" Ruby asked.

"Yeah, right." Carter snorted before he watched as Sam scratched the devil's trap on the floor with his knife. "Wait, what the hell are you doing? Are you serious?"

"And they say chivalry's dead." Ruby spoke as she took a step out of the trap. "Does anyone have a breath mint? Some guts splattered in my mouth while I was killing my way in here." She walked past everyone and into the main office. Dean, Carter, Henriksen and you followed her, while Sam stayed to fix the salt line and the trap.

"How many are out there?" Dean asked.

"30 at least." Ruby replied, looking back at him. "That's so far."

"Oh, good. 30. 30 hit men all gunning for us. Who sent them?" You asked. Ruby looked past you to Sam who now stood by the door with a guilty look on his face.

"You didn't tell them?" Ruby asked him. Dean and you shared a confused look.

"Tell us what?" You asked.

"There's a big new up and corner. Real pied piper." Ruby answered.

"Who is he?" Dean looked back at her.

"Not he. Her. Her name is Lilith."

"Oh, you've gotta be kidding me." Carter said, running a nervous hand through his hair as he sat down in a chair.

"I'm not. And she really, really wants yours and Sam's intestines on a stick. 'Cause she sees you both as competition." Ruby explained, looking back at Carter.

"Wait. What?" You frowned.

"You knew about this?" Dean asked his brother. However, Sam didn't answered. "Well, gee, Sam. Is there anything else we should know?!"

"How about the two of you talk about this later? We'll need the Colt." Ruby spoke, looking at the Winchester brothers. "Where's the Colt?"

"It got stolen." You answered for them.

"I'm sorry. I must have blood in my ear. I thought I just heard you say that you were stupid enough to let the Colt get grabbed out of your thick, clumsy, idiotic hands. Fantastic. This is just peachy..."

"Ruby..."

"Shut up." She snapped at Sam, raising her hand. "Fine. Since I don't see that there's no other any option. There's one other way I know how to get you out of here alive."

"And that is?" Carter looked up at her.

"I know a spell." She answered, looking back at him. "It'll vaporize every demon in a one-mile radius. Myself included. So, you let the Colt out of your sight and now I have to die. So next time, be more careful. How's that for a dying wish?"

Feeling her eyes on him, Dean smirked. He actually looked quite pleased to be able to get rid of Ruby once and for all.

"Okay, what do we need to do?" Dean asked.

"Aww... you can't do anything. This spell is very specific. It calls for a person of virtue."

"I got virtue."

"Surely not the kind she's talking about." Carter chuckled, standing up. "You're not a virgin."

"Nobody here is a virgin." Dean laughed. "Are you a virgin?"

"Because I have been locked up for almost half my life? Nice try, but no."

Ruby sighed looking at Nancy, who quickly looked away.

"No. No way. You're kidding me, r–. You're..."

"What? It's a choice, okay?" Nancy cut Dean off.

"So, y-you've never... Not even once? I mean not even – Wow."

"Can we not... judge people by their decisions?" You asked, coming to the girl's defense. "Thanks."

"So, this spell. What can I do?" Nancy smiled at Ruby, happy to be able to help.

"You can hold still... while I cut your heart out of your chest." Ruby smiled back at her.

"What?" Nancy lost her smile.

"Are you crazy?" You looked back at Ruby.

"I'm offering a solution."

"You're offering to kill somebody."

"And what do you think's gonna happen to this girl when the demons get in?" She argued.

"We're gonna protect her. That's what." Henriksen said.

"Very noble." Ruby scoffed.

"Yeah, how exactly do you think you're going to fight those demons, huh?" Carter looked at Henriksen. "They're not as friendly as they look inside human bodies. They will kill you slowly and painfully. They will chase you and torment you and..."

"Would everybody please shut up?!" Nancy cut him off. Everybody looked at her with surprise. "All the people out there... will it save them?"

"It'll blow the demons out of their bodies. So if their bodies are okay... yeah." Ruby answered.

"I'll do it." Nancy stated after a few moments.

"You really don't have to." You said in a soft tone. "We can find another way."

"There's no other way." Ruby and Carter assured at the same time.

"We don't sacrifice people. We do that, we're no better than them." You looked back at them.

"We don't have a choice." Ruby said.

"Yeah, well, your choice is not a choice." Dean looked at her.

Seeing that Dean and you were completely against her idea, Ruby turned her eyes towards Sam looking for support. "Sam, you know I'm right."

Dean smiled, in the expectation that Sam will agree with you two.

"Sam?" He called his name, but Sam stayed quiet. "What the hell is going on? Sam, tell her."

"He doesn't want to disappoint you, but Sammy knows we're right." Carter said.

"You shut up!" Dean and you exclaimed at the same time.

"They're the only ones who can call me Sammy." Sam complained simultaneously, pointing to his brother and you.

"It's my decision." Nancy spoke.

"Damn straight, cherry pie." Ruby smirked.

"Stop! Stop! Nobody kill any virgins. Sam, I need to talk to you." Dean yelled, before walking off the main area with his brother.

"Do not touch her." You pointed toward Nancy before following the Winchester brothers into the hallway.

"Please tell me you're not actually considering this. We're talking about holding down a girl and cutting out her heart." Dean looked at his brother.

"And we're also talking about 30 people out there, Dean. Innocent people who are all gonna die, along with everyone in here." Sam argued.

"It doesn't mean that we throw away the rule book and stop acting like humans. I'm not gonna let that demon kill some nice, sweet, innocent girl, who hasn't even been laid. I mean, look, if that's how you win wars, then I don't want to win."

"Exactly. Ruby's plan is stupid." You said, gaining their attention. "And even if you guys agree, I won't let you touch Nancy."

"Then what? What do we do?" Sam asked with desperation.

You sighed as you turned away for a moment.

"I got a plan." You said after a couple of seconds. "I'm not saying it's a good one. I'm not even saying that it'll work. But it sure as hell beats killing a virgin."

"Okay, so, what's the plan?" Dean asked.

"Open the doors, let them all in and we fight."

"And Ruby's idea is the stupid one?" Carter scoffed behind you. You rolled your eyes, turning towards him. "Come on, sis. You've gotta have something better than that.

"I do." You assured. "Remember how I got Dorian out of your body that night?"

"Oh, we're going to pull one of Mom's book plays?" Carter smirked. "Sounds cool. I like it, Smarty."

"You guys mind sharing that idea with the group?" Dean asked.

"Get ready. Carter and I will take care of it. Trust me." You pleaded, looking back at him.

Dean sighed, looking into your eyes for a few seconds.

"I trust you." He then said.

When Ruby heard your idea, she clearly didn't like it, so she decided to leave. Meanwhile, the rest of the group prepared to fight. Henriksen, Sam and Dean positioning themselves at different spots of the building.

"All set?" Dean asked.

"Yeah!" Sam answered form the main area.

"Ready!" Henriksen replied.

"Let's do this." Dean sighed before breaking the salt line in front of him.

Sam and Henriksen did the same. Breaking the salt lines and the devil's traps near them. A few seconds past before the demons started to get in. Pointing their guns filled with salt bullets at them, Sam, Dean and Henriksen shot.

"God, I hope this works." Henriksen muttered as he opened a flask full of holy water and splashed it on the demon near him.

Meanwhile Nancy and Phil were on the roof, watching as more demons ran into the building. When they saw them all go through the doors, they both went down and closed them, putting lines of salt on each one before doing the same thing in the windows.

Just as all the demons surrounded Dean, Sam and Henriksen, Carter activated the station's speakers and you began speaking into the microphone, pronouncing an exorcism. The demons stopped their movements and covered their ears.

You said the exorcism several times before the demons began to scream in pain leaving the bodies of their vessels in several shots of black smoke that soon disappeared into the night.

The bodies dropped to the ground and there was an explosion of light on the ceiling before everything went still.

Sam and Dean slid down the wall to the floor and looked at each other. Carter and you then emerged from the microphone room. You crouched down next to the Winchester brothers, looking worriedly at them as the electricity flickered back on. Henriksen walked into the office and chuckled slightly as he wiped blood from his lip.

"We need to start listening to you more, sweetheart." Dean smile at you. "That was a hell of an idea."

Letting out a small chuckle, you shared a relieved look with your older brother.

─── ❖ ── ✦ ── ❖ ───

You were surprised when Carter decided to join the three of you at the motel. You figured that after everything your brother would leave as quickly as possible, taking advantage of his freedom and his newfound knowledge of anti-possession symbols. Despite what he had done, Carter deserved to live his life away from the supernatural. But his big brother instinct, his need to protect his little sister, remained in him even if he wanted to deny it.

Henriksen had decided to give you up for dead and let you go free after saving his, Phil's and Nancy's lives. But since Carter had no money, Sam and Dean had booked him a separate room at the motel.

A knock on the door was what kept you from falling asleep after taking a shower.

"Turn on the news." Ruby said as she walked into the room when Dean opened the door.

Letting out a sigh, Sam did as she said, seeing that on TV the news reporter was talking about a fire that had occurred at the police station.

"The community is still reeling from the tragedy that happened just a few hours ago. Authorities believe a gas main ruptured, causing the massive explosion that ripped apart the police station and claimed the lives of everyone inside. Among the deceased, at least six police officers and staff, including sheriff Melvin Dodd, deputy Phil Amici, and secretary Nancy Fitzgerald as well as three FBI agents, identified as Steven Groves, Calvin Reidy, and Victor Henriksen." As she was talking, pictures of them popped up on the screen. "Three fugitives in custody were also killed. We'll continue to follow the story here at the scene, but for now, back to you, Jim."

Guilt washed over you as Ruby turned off the television and looked at the three of you with an 'I-told-you-so' look.

"Must have happened right after we left." Sam assumed.

Having watched the news himself in his room, Carter walked through the door that separated their rooms. His eyes immediately searched for his sister.

"Considering the size of the blast..." Ruby started, tossing hex bags to each of you. "...smart money's on Lilith."

"What's in these?" Dean looked up at her.

"Something that'll protect you. Throw Lilith off your trail... for the time being, at least."

"Thanks." Sam said.

"Don't thank me. Lilith killed everyone. She slaughtered your precious little virgin, plus a half a dozen other people. So after your big speech about humanity and war, turns out your plan? was the one with the body count. Do you know how to run a battle? You strike fast and you don't leave any survivors. So no one can go running to tell the boss. So next time... we go with my plan." Ruby said before leaving the motel room.

Carter crouched down in front of you, placing his hands on your knees. You sat silently, staring at the hex bag in your hands.

"It's my fault." You said, eyes full with tears.

"No, it's not. You tried to save them."

"And now they're all dead." You looked up at him, letting the tears fall form your eyes.

"Listen to me." Carter held your cheeks, making sure you were paying attention to him. "I know that now it feels like you killed them, but you didn't. That's what demons do, they play with our humanity, they take advantage of it and then they stab you in the back. I didn't kill Mom, just like you didn't kill Nancy, Phil and Victor. Dorian and Lilith did."

"He is right." Dean said, sitting down next to you, hugging you by the shoulders and pulling you close to his body. You buried your face in his chest and reached for his hand, intertwining your fingers. Dean squeezed your hand softly.

"You guys keep on hunting, I'm going to make sure Ophelia and Dorian pay for what they did to us." Carter stated as he stood up. "I promise you, sis. I'll make it all up to you."

Keep Reading: Chapter Twelve

Tag List: @deans-spinster-witch @lmhf1 @mochminnie @helo1281917 @barnes70stark @slyregg

If you'd like to be tagged, drop me a comment

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swifty-fox · 6 months ago

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What did you think of The Bikeriders?

omg Im a lilll drunk so.

SPOILER FREE REVIEW:

I honestly think its the best movie I've seen since Green Knight. The sound design is phenomenal, the soundtrack is deeply immersive. I think (not sure) they used real film so it had that lovely 60's grain and bloom that made me feel like I was watching a documentary more than anything else. I think the plot was clear and concise and enjoyable without being overcomplicated or trying to make any sort of broad statements. It knew what it was and it did it well.

Jodie Comer/Kathy was PHENOMINAL!!! She was funny qitty, she made me Feel like she was a 60's housewife in Chicago. The accent was flawless, her hair and wardrobe reminded me of my grandma (in the best sort of way) and you really feel for her and connect with her the entire time. Her facial expressions had me laughing several times.

Tom Hardy/Johnny was wonderful of course, it's Tom hardy. he nails the accent, honestly everybody did. And like. It's Tom Hardy man. He acts like he wants to fuck whoever he's talking to its his signature. but he plays the sensitive biker so well, he was great in every scene he was in and It felt like watching an aging lion with his pride. This bittersweet melancholy colored with utmost respect. i won't give spoilers but once you watch it you'll understand.

Norman Reedus/Sonny!!!!! he wasnt in it a ton but he CRUSHED every scene he was in I was cracking up every time he opened his mouth you could just tell he was having a blast playing an absolute Bum. He's not hugely important to the plot but he was just a delight to watch.

Austin Butler/Benny was just....beautiful. It won't make sense until you watch it but he doesn't exist. but he does. but he also doesn't. He's a real man but he's symbolic of the biker spirit. We know nothing about him but we come to understand him so well. he's a tomcat who desperately wants you to scratch his head, and then he's a prize thoroughbred who will run until its heart gives out if given the chance and he wouldn't choose to be any other way. he has very few speaking lines but he OWNS every scene he's in. He's got all the sex appeal of Marlon Brando and all the bad boy charisma od James Dean. but jesus christ give this man a shower and some clean clothes. He's. hot. He's vulnerable. he's unkillable because he's a mythological figure more than a man. he takes a role that could have been deeply 2D and makes it something DELICIOUS.

My only complaint is sometimes it was hard to hear lines over the background noise/the motorcycle engines.

#the bikeriders #swiftytalks

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deepdisireslonging · 1 year ago

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No Cum November Part 8: Exorcism Play

Dean ramps up the challenge by handing the reigns to the Reader to control the pace. Can she manage that control, or will Dean’s stronger side overpower her?

Pairing: Demon!Dean x Reader

Warnings/Promises: SMUT, anti-demon handcuffs, exorcism play (is that a thing? It is now), edging, oral (male receiving), light degradation

Word Count: 1400

Note: Had a bit more fun with this one. Wanted to play with both Dean’s subby side, and his proud Deanmon side. Let me know your thoughts and reactions in the comments and with reblogs. Happy reading!

Part 7: Double Possession

You awoke to the sensation of being watched.

Two eyes, eclipsed with demonic black, stared down at you. The hand over your mouth muffled your scream. The other hand around your wrists controlled your thrashing until you could recognize the familiar face.

“Hey there, sweetheart.” He gently lifted his hand off your face.

“Dean?” Panting, heart racing, you hesitated inching away from him. “Are- are you alright?”

He grinned. “I am myself. It’s just contacts. You can find just about anything on the internet these days.” He leaned back, giving you room to recover. “How are you? That is- is this okay? Are you up for a little game?”

Intrigued, you sat up in your bed. “A game?”

Two pairs of cuffs landed on the sheets next to your hips. Eagerly, you started to slide back down into place, but Dean stopped you with a chuckle. Taking hold of your wrist, he tugged you to stand so he could take your place. You watched as he closed the first cuff around his wrist. Only then did you recognize the anti-demon symbols engraved into the metal. You clicked the second cuff around his wrist with shaking hands.

With another grin, Dean leaned back into the sheets. “Ready to ride the demon out of me, baby?”

You hesitated. “But, with you tied down… you-“

“I won’t be able to stop you? I know. I trust you. And even if you do cum, you’ve done so well. Taking both Sam and I, having to watch us cum without getting to orgasm. If you cum tonight, it’s alright. We start over. And we keep going till the end of the month. We’ve got a few more plans for you.” He tilted his head to get a good look at your face. “Y/N. Look at me, sweetheart.”

You did.

“You can do this. Trust me.” He wriggled. “Now take that shirt off so I can see you.”

“Who’s in charge here? You, in the cuffs, or me?” A teasing smile played at your lips as you toyed with the hem of your sleep shirt. Despite not being able to see his irises, Dean’s eyes followed your hands as they dipped under the fabric. Despite the dark contacts, his eyes still lit up as you removed your shirt, tossing it to one side. Your bottoms followed suit, making him lick his lips. “Let’s see if we can exorcise you with a bit of cardio?”

He was still clothed and arched into your reach for his shirt buttons. One by one, you slipped them through the fabric until you could see the expanse of his chest and soft tummy. His stomach contracted as you first gently ran your fingers across his skin, then grazed the same path with your fingernails. He softly whined your name as you started to undo the button and zipper on his jeans. When you dragged the fabric out of the way, and then his boxers, his member sprang up stiff against his stomach. You took it into your hand, making Dean pull on the cuffs with your slow movements. His loud groan as you twirled your thumb around the tip froze you. Maybe a gag was in order?

“Where’s Sam?”

“Out.”

“Hmm.” You slid your hand down to grip the base of his cock. “Nobody here to save you but me.”

Catching his eye, you situated yourself between his legs and began to suck him off in earnest. He writhed and twisted, trying to both push his length deeper into your mouth, and pull away to catch his breath. With your nails digging into his hips, and the cuff into his wrists, there wasn’t anywhere for him to go. So he begged. He begged for you to twirl your tongue how he liked. Begged for you to hum around him. Begged you for mercy after you quickened your pace. Begged for you to move when you slowed down too much. He knew what you were doing. You were edging him. And you were toying with his pleasure the same way that he and Sam had been teasing you all month. It made his cock twitch in your mouth with the thought.

You pulled off with a pop. “Getting close, darling?”

All he could do was nod. Through the contacts, you knew his eyes were glazed over in pleasure.

You began again, giving no mercy. Dean filled your mouth a few moments later, crying out your name. Even after you removed your mouth to kiss across his tummy, you still weren’t done. You straddled his hips, trapping his cock under your wetness. Then he understood. With him at only half-mast, you would be able to ride him with less of a chance of ruining the challenge. While still overstimulating the man trapped beneath you.

“Feeling vengeful, sweetheart?”

“Maybe just a little.”

Dean’s head fell back into your pillows. The drag of you across his length was torture so close to his release. But his cock did it’s best to stiffen again anyways. He shivered as you rose just high enough to sink down onto it. You stopped when you reached his base. On either side of his hips, your thighs quaked. If what you had planned was going to work, you would really have to focus.

“Ah, this was easier when your mouth was full, wasn’t it?”

With a start, the dark glow in Dean’s eyes sent a fearful zing through your body. It made you clench with the pseudo-danger of the scene. Especially with the way Dean’s voice remembered that growl that came with his demon days.

“What’s your plan, sweetheart? Ride the demon out of me? Make me cum so hard I see grace?” His voice cracked as you flexed your walls around him. “You’re off to a good start,” he muttered.

You took a deep breath and began to move. “Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus-“

Dean laughed high. “Alright. Let’s see you try.”

Where you had been controlling the pace, Dean began to match your thrusts. He snapped his hips hard, and twisting his hips to put pressure on your clit. Your chanting was interrupted. You restarted phrases and lines over and over, trying to make it through the whole exorcism. Dean continued to move. Continued to knock you off rhythm with his hips, and with his words.

“You look so good up there, sweetheart. Riding me like only you can. Like you were meant to be. I love a blowjob as much as the next guy… but watching you bounce on my cock is the best thing. How close are you? Can you feel that orgasm building?”

“Ergo- er…. ergo, draco male- oh, Dean, maledicte-“

“How bad do you want it, Y/n? You’ve been so good. What’s one orgasm? I could give you so many, and Sam wouldn’t have to know. But no, you’re our good girl, aren’t you? You won’t cum. But I bet you’re close. Bet your nipples are so hard. Squeeze your breasts for me. Wish I could touch you-“

It didn’t register that you were supposed to be in charge. You’d lost that long ago.

“Oh, God-“

“He’s not here. Keep bouncing. I’m- keep going-“

Dean’s body stiffened. His cock twitched and filled you. While Dean fought to catch his breath, you fell to one side. You shivered from head to toe, just barely short of the release Dean’s demon side had tempted you with. How much longer was this challenge? You needed to cum.”

Warm, trembling lips pressed against your forehead. “You did so good. Just a bit longer.” He breathed deeply, guiding you to calm down from your denial. “Alright. Let me outta these things.” He rattled the cuffs against your headboard.

“Maybe I want to leave you in them for a bit longer. You’re not fully exorcised yet.” You giggled under his glare. “Besides, maybe I want to sleep right here.” A yawn broke though your next words with perfect timing.

“But if I’m tied up, I can’t cuddle my good girl to sleep.”

“Very true.” You released the cuffs. Dean turned to one side, removing the contacts and placing them onto your nightstand. Then he embraced you, holding you tight and nuzzling his head into the crook of your neck. “Sleep tight. And rest up. Sam’s got something planned for you soon.”

***

On the King’s Blade (King of Hell!Sam)

Series Masterlist

#Demon!Dean #dean winchester smut #dean winchester x reader #reader insert #winchester smut #winchester x reader #supernatural

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scoobydoodean · 9 months ago

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Everyone (besides the Braedens) is so annoying about Dean in 6.01. In a way, he's almost treated like some sort of exotic animal by other hunters—"the hunter who got out" is considered an impossibility in the hunting world—both from a moral perspective, and from a trauma perspective.

Bobby keeps repeating "You were out" when Dean gets mad at him and Sam for keeping Sam's resurrection a secret, and while there is obviously a loving angle in Bobby wanting Dean (someone he views as a son) to live a long life, the secret is so unapologetically cruel in the face of Dean's grief that Bobby's actions also suggest more personal motivations. This, along with Dean's demand "Good for who?" when Bobby insists he made the good choice, almost lends itself to the idea that this wasn't just about Dean. It was about something Dean symbolized for Bobby. Dean was living proof that hunters could get out, and have families, and live long lives, and this probably soothes something in Bobby as someone who lost his wife tragically right after an emotional betrayal. In "Death's Door", Bobby is implied to have had a vasectomy he never told Karen about. He was the child who ruined everything he touched according to his abusive father, and decided never to have children because of it. Bobby still grieves losing Karen, and he grieves what could have been if he hadn't let his dad get in his head. Like Bobby, Dean is also a person accused of having a corrupting touch, and Bobby is very aware of Dean's self-worth issues (2.22) and I think sees a lot of his own emotional hangups in Dean. So I think it's possible that for Bobby, seeing Dean get to be happy is something Bobby needs... for himself in a sense? While being something he wants for someone he loves, it also just... soothes something inside him, symbolically and personally.

Other characters don't react so positively to Dean as a symbol representing hunters being able to get out and overcome the tragedies that generally bring them into the life to begin with. The Campbells immediately look down on Dean for not being a hunter anymore, treating him as a greenhorn, suggesting he was never meant for the work they do (his features are too "delicate"), poking around his house like it's a zoo exhibit. Sam also joins in, mocking Dean for having golf clubs.

Samuel feigns sympathy, saying he "gets it" because Mary wanted out of the life too, but it's just a little carefully placed pathos before he launches into giving Dean the same speech Mary was likely subjected to repeatedly, telling Dean they need all hands on deck, that he has a responsibility but would rather "play golf" (which is really what shows most that Samuel has zero understanding of why Dean or his own daughter wanted normal lives).

Sam also completely switches up on Dean by the end of the episode, going from justifying keeping his resurrection a secret because Dean was happy, to saying that Dean can't be normal and should return to hunting because he's putting Lisa and Ben in danger by being with them. Of course, soulless Sam flip flops because he doesn't actually care about whether or not Dean is happy. He was going through the motions of wanting Dean to be happy because he thought it was what he should want based on his memories, and he didn't have any emotional need for his brother and therefore no reason to bother him or care that he was grieving someone who was alive. But the moment he saw Dean display the heart of a hero, rushing to try and save his neighbors when all hope was lost, he saw something that he thought would be useful—someone with a heart who might make the "rules" of how to conduct himself more clear. Dean then seemed like a useful asset.

#6.01 #season 6 #pk rewatches spn number ?#do i look like a ditchable prom date to you?#dean and bobby #samuel #the campbells #mary #dean and guilt #the very touch of you corrupts #dont objectify me!#dean minimizations

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follows-the-bees · 1 month ago

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How windows are used to show the growing friendship of Cas and Dean in Free to Be You and Me

I posted my first analysis on the cinematography of 5x03 and this time I want to focus on windows.

I noticed that windows in this episode are used for the lighting and cinematography a lot more than normal episodes.

Rooms without or less prominent windows

First, we have Cas showing up in a mirror with Dean, and while this is done for comedy, mirrors are often used to reflect the true feelings of characters.

Cas asks for Dean's help. As they talk they stand closer to each other. The mirror prominent on one side and a closed curtain window on the other.

The other scene without a window is when the duo are in the "den of iniquity." At this point, they are at odds. Dean thinks he's helping his friend experience something before he dies but Cas is not enjoying this. He is visibly uncomfortable. While their friendship is growing, they are not on the same page, lacking understanding just like lacking windows.

Windows

After driving for who know how long in Baby, Dean and Cas work on the case together. The first time this has been done. They are in an office full of windows and an open door, symbolizing how they are on their way, open to a deepening friendship.

The walls are solid, visceral colors. From the pink tones in the brothel to this greenish blue of the hospital room. Something about these color choices as well.

They continue on their case with confronting Raphael. They stand physically apart but emotionally supportive.

The window blinds are open. Later when Raphael's in his true vessel and confronting Cas and Dean, we see very prominent windows behind them. These windows show the opposing elements: fire inside the building symbolizing Cas and Dean strength over Raphael and the rain/storm happening outside, representing Raphael's strength. When he blows out the windows bringing the elements inside, instead of separating or lessening the duo's power it brings them together physically and emotionally.

Before they confront Raphael, some of my favorite cinematography happens. Cas and Dean are sitting in the abandoned house. A giant window shining the only light into the room is behind them. This is the moment where Dean finds out Cas will probably die during this mission he chooses to try and give Cas a nice time (according to Dean) before this happens. The light through the open curtains shines on them like the budding of their friendship.

Baby

Cas and Dean spend probably what is the longest time so far together in Baby. Dean insists they drive to Maine which would at the very least take a day depending where they are.

At the end of all of this journey, they end up having a heart-to-heart in Baby. While Dean does not believe in Cas' cause, Cas is down trodden, and Dean decides to lift Cas up instead. By this time, the case and everything they go through has strengthened their friendship.

Outside

We have two scenes of Cas and Dean outside. First, when they arrive in Maine for the case, they go to the police department. Dean fixes Cas' tie and puts the fake FBI badge in his pocket, a gesture to make Cas look presentable.

The other outside scene is after Cas and Dean escape the brothel. Dean puts his arm around Cas and laughs and Cas smiles - for only the second time. At this point, these are the highpoints of the growing bond between them.

They are at odds in scenes without windows and grow closer in scenes with open blinds, light streaming through. And are at their closest when outside, free to be themselves.

This episode is not only about Raphael but about the growing bond and friendship between Cas and Dean.

#spn #supernatural #dean winchester #castiel #spn analysis #free to be you and me #spn 5x03 #filmmaking analysis #destiel

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jackles010378 · 1 year ago

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Dean in glasses 🥵🔥

(I don't know what it is about seeing Dean wearing glasses that I find so hot 🔥 so I had to write a little fic about it, enjoy)

Y/n had always found Dean Winchester irresistible. There was something about his rugged charm and devil-may-care attitude that made her weak in the knees. The two of them had been hunting partners for years, and the chemistry between them was undeniable. But there was one thing that Y/n found particularly captivating about Dean - whenever he wore glasses.

It was a rare sight to see Dean with his glasses on. Most of the time, he preferred his sharp green eyes to be on full display. But during one particular hunt, Y/n caught a glimpse of Dean wearing his glasses as he read through a lore book. She couldn't tear her eyes away from him.

As they set out on the hunt, Y/n found herself stealing glances at Dean whenever she got the chance. His glasses added an extra layer of intensity to his already piercing gaze. Y/n couldn't help but imagine what it would be like if Dean turned that intense focus on her.

The hunt itself was challenging, as they were up against a particularly cunning creature. Y/n's mind should have been fully focused on the task at hand, but she couldn't shake the distraction that Dean in glasses presented. She found herself mesmerized by the way they balanced on the bridge of his nose, making him look even more handsome and intelligent.

As they finally cornered the creature in an abandoned warehouse, Y/n's heart raced with a mixture of fear and excitement. She knew this was their chance to put an end to the hunt, but her thoughts kept wandering back to Dean in his glasses. The tension between them was palpable.

With a burst of energy, they fought the creature with all their might. Y/n glanced over at Dean, who was a whirlwind of determination and strength. His glasses had fogged up slightly from the intensity of the fight, giving him an even more enticing appearance. After destroying the creature, Y/n couldn't resist any longer.

In a daring move, she grabbed Dean by the collar of his shirt and pulled him into a searing kiss. Dean responded instantly, his own desire matching hers. The glasses clattered to the ground as they gave in to their pent-up feelings. The hunt was forgotten, replaced by a passionate connection that neither Y/n nor Dean could deny.

Afterwards, as they caught their breath and picked up their scattered gear, Y/n couldn't help but smile. She realized that Dean's glasses were just another aspect of him that made her fall even harder. And from that moment on, whenever Dean wore his glasses, Y/n couldn't help but feel a surge of desire that fueled their hunts and their undeniable connection.

And so, their hunting adventures continued, with Y/n cherishing every moment when Dean would put on his glasses - a symbol of their shared passion and the electrifying spark that kept them coming back for more.

TAGLIST: @k-slla @cevansbaby-dove @kaleldobrev @janineb86 @deans-daydream @alternativeprincess94 @tmb510 @nescavaneck

#jensen ackles #dean winchester #supernatural #jackles #jensen ross ackles #spn cast #soldier boy #deanwinchtser #jensen ackles gifs #beau arlen #dean winchester fanfiction #dean winchester fanfic #dean winchester x y/n #dean winchester x you

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shallowseeker · 1 year ago

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Happy, "Just-- take it. Please," Sunday!

"But just in case. 'Cause I never stopped wanting to fix it either. So we got something in common. (re: the coat) Just-- take it. Please."

///

The damaged, blood-spattered overcoat as sublimated longing and stand-in for the heart.

///

(Text Attributions// Supernatural scripts here via @spnscripthunt. Transcripts are located here via SPNWiki. Visit their Tumblr to donate.)

#days of the week script celebrations #spn days of the week #dean + the symbolic giving of the heart #cas + the overcoat #overcoat + akaky's symbol of longing for a spouse #overcoat + the symbol of the overworked father #cas + coat of arms #dean/cas + the coat in common #dean + the imperfect dream #dean/cas + the coat of imperfections #castiel's coat

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ananke-xiii · 3 months ago

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little convoluted thought that ends beautifully, I promise.

So Purgatory Dean/Benny and Summer of Love/Demon!Dean/Crowley stories are structurally very similar and I would even go as far as to say that they are the fundamentally the same but I can't because Dean/Crowley is a deterioration of Dean/Benny in the sense that while Benny did indeed help Dean, even though he had an ulterior motive, their relationship was based on more or less equal footing (Dean had more power in their dynamic) and respect of the terms of agreement.

Both stories have two more characters in them, i.e. Sam and Cas but their function is not the same. While Sam's is a sort of wake-up call for Dean to go back to reality, Cas is the one who bookends these two stories. Both Purgatory arc and Demon!Dean arc are closed when Dean and Cas reunite.

Now.

These two arcs are basically about Dean escaping reality. Which means he doesn't like his reality and probably needs/wants something more, different or for the first time out of it. Purgatory is pure and easy, Crowley's summer of love is fun and free. And yet they both REALLY end when Cas is back into the picture.

Mmmmm.

The fact that Dean wants/needs more and that his heart desires something he can't or doesn't want to admit is not something I'm making up. This is literally the core theme of both s10 and 11. S8 Purgatory is about the realization that there is indeed something that Dean needs and perhaps even wants (he's very adamant about it in Purgatory where he could feel "pure" and where purity means black and white mentality and free killing) but s9 tells him that he can't have that. Not having all of his wants and needs met dangerously leads Dean to a dark path from s9 onwards when he tries to symbolically go back to Purgatory via Mark of Cain (black and white mentality, more black than white lol, free killings without guilt, fake and consuming feeling of being in control of your life if you only have that ONE thing.... ((the blade, the imaginary lover, the stripper etc))). Of course it doesn't work because Purgatory was real but it was also a different place than the everyday world where its rules don't apply (no free killing for you here, Dean. Well, more or less, only your usual).

S11 pointedly ends with Amara telling Dean she gave him something that he needs, his mother. Which is true for all human beings: maternal love is indeed the primary need to be nurtured and cared for. So Amara did learn one thing or two about humans after all. And since we're here, she presumably didn't have to give Dean what he wanted because he could get it himself.

Because if his stints in Purgatory and demonhood were Dean looking for something he needed and wanted that ended when Dean reunited with Cas... and now Dean got what he needed because Amara didn't have to give Dean what he wanted because he could get it by himself... Would that mean?! Yeah, it does.

We're back again to "the one thing I want I know I can't have". It's always about desire, not limited to the physical sense but desire for that something or someone that you want. And maybe even get.

Which made me think of this beautiful poem by Fyodor Tyutchev (ACTUALLY, thinking about this poem made me think of the rest, so this post should be read end to beginning lol):

The Dull Flame Of Desire

I love your eyes, my dear,

their sparkling dancing fire

as they suddenly rise

to embrace everywhere

like lightning in the wilderness -

but there's a stronger charm

when your eyes are lowered

during passionate kisses

and in their downcast lashes

glows the dull flame of desire.

#the tragedy that is being the object of desire of the one you desire and not knowing it #spn purgatory #supernatural #spn #castiel #dean winchester #spn meta

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lovemydarkestsecrets-blog · 6 months ago

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Past Dean gets home

This is part 2 of this post: https://www.tumblr.com/lovemydarkestsecrets-blog/754399997181739008/future-love-past-memories

The sun begins to set as Sam and Dean prepare for the ritual in the secluded clearing they found just outside of town. The air is heavy with anticipation and the scent of the herbs they gathered. Dean watches Sam work, his heart aching at the thought of leaving his brother behind once more.

Sam draws the final symbols on the ground, his hands steady but his eyes betraying the turmoil within. He glances up at Dean, the fading light casting long shadows across his face. “Are you sure about this?” Sam asks, his voice tight with emotion. “There’s no turning back once we start.”

Dean takes a deep breath, stepping closer to Sam. Dean’s hand rests gently on Sam’s cheek as Dean uses his thumb to rub the soft, clear skin. “I’m sure, Sammy. I need to get back. Your future depends on it. But… I wish I could stay.”

Sam swallows hard, nodding as he blinks back tears. “I know. I just… I hate saying goodbye.”

Dean places a kiss on Sammy’s forehead and nods. “This isn’t goodbye, not really. You and me, we’re always connected. No matter where or when.”

Sam manages a small, sad smile. “Yeah, I know. Still, it feels like I’m losing you all over again.”

They stand in silence for a moment, the weight of the impending farewell pressing down on them. Finally, Dean pulls Sam into a tight hug, holding him close. “You’ve grown so much, Sammy. I’m so proud of past and future you. Don’t ever forget that.”

Sam clings to Dean, his voice choked with emotion as the tears start to fall. Dean feels his shirt dampen, but he doesn’t mind. “I won’t. And I’ll do everything I can to make sure our future is better. I promise. I’m going to call past Dean the moment you leave…”

Dean pulls back, looking into Sam’s eyes. “Why?”

Sam’s eyes glisten in the moonlight as Dean watches intently. “This relationship, the one you and future me have. I need it. What I’ve always wanted, it was you. It was always you, Dean.”

Dean gives Sam a small, sad smile. “He’ll feel the same way. He’ll always feel the same way.” A smile starts to tug at the corners of Sam’s lips as he looks down at the book once more.

“Let’s get it done, Sammy.”

With a nod, Sam steps back and begins chanting the incantation, his voice steady despite the tears streaming down his face. Dean watches him, memorizing every detail, every sound, knowing this might be the last time he sees this version of his brother for a long time.

As the ritual progresses, a bright light begins to emanate from the symbols on the ground, enveloping Dean. The air crackles with energy, and Dean feels himself being pulled away. He locks eyes with Sam one last time, his heart breaking at the sight of his brother’s tear-streaked face.

“I love you, Sammy,” Dean says, his voice barely audible over the roar of the magic.

“I love you too, Dean,” Sam replies, his voice cracking. “Take care of yourself.”

The light intensifies, and Dean feels himself being lifted off the ground. The last thing he sees before everything goes white is Sam’s anguished expression, a sight that will haunt him until they meet again.

---

**Dean's Return to the Future**

Dean stumbles as he lands back in his own time, the familiar surroundings of the bunker coming into focus. He feels disoriented, but the sight of the familiar walls brings a wave of relief. He’s home. He’s finally in his timeline.

Sam rushes to his side, worry etched across his face. “Dean! Are you okay?”

Dean nods, pulling his brother into a desperate kiss. Dean doesn’t want to let go; he can’t let go. He knows younger Sammy is in there and he knows this kiss is for him.

Once Dean pulls away, Sam’s cheeks flush. “What was that about?” Dean pushes a stray hair out of the way and tucks it behind Sam’s ear.

“I just… missed you, is all.”

Sam smiles softly to himself before he speaks back up. “I-uh, have a few new memories of an older Dean… Thank you.”

Dean’s expression turns into confusion. He wasn’t aware that’s the effect time traveling would have had, but who was he to question it?

“For what?”

“What you said, about me, current me. How you were so delicate with me, how each kiss you gave me was sweet and tender. You were gentle with me. Thank you.” Sam’s gaze no longer met Dean’s as he rambled, embarrassed with how much Dean’s kindness touched him.

“Don’t thank me for something like that, you deserved it. Such a soft and sweet boy.” Sam’s face turns bright red as Dean talks, and Dean can’t help but find himself smiling like a madman.

“Are you still my soft and sweet boy?” Dean hooks his finger under Sam’s chin and with a soft shove, Sam can’t help but love it.

“I guess I am.”

Dean’s smitten gaze settles on Sam’s lips before he leans in for a softer kiss than before.

“Good, now let’s make up for lost time.”

#dean winchester #sam winchester #samdean #supernatural #wincest #time travel #winchester brothers

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artyandink · 21 days ago

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𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞 𝐱𝐲𝐳 3

TW: assassination attempts, ex-hitman!Dean, POTUS!reader, politics!au, politics, murder, gunfire, boss reader, major sexual tension between reader and Dean but also romantic tension cause we love that, post shower!dean, reader thirsting over Dean, very not professional stuff, Dean being a thirst trap, besties being besties, attempted murder by proxy, slow/quick burn, y’all will have to figure that out

A/N: In honour of our queen Kamala Harris, who didn’t win the 2024 elections, so I give you what could’ve been

NOW PLAYING: Play With Fire by Sam Tinnesz (ft. Yacht Money)

reformed symbol

It was late. The type of late where the world outside was swallowed by silence, the soft hum of the White House barely a murmur against the quiet of the night. The only sound that accompanied you as you worked in your bedroom was the faint clicking of your pen as you reviewed the never-ending stack of paperwork. You’d taken on more than you had anticipated since you’d assumed the presidency, and though your mind begged for rest, the tasks never seemed to slow down.

Tonight, you’d chosen to forgo the usual formal attire in favor of something more comfortable—sleep shorts and a loose pajama shirt, your hair loosely pulled back from your face. The outfit was an indulgence in practicality, something that allowed you to focus on the task at hand without feeling confined. Yet, even in these less-than-presidential clothes, you still felt the weight of the power you held. You had to.

You sighed, rubbing your eyes as you closed the last of the files in front of you. It was time to call it a night. As you gathered up your papers, you noticed something out of place—the jacket of Dean’s suit hanging over the back of one of the chairs. Dean.

You hadn’t seen much of him lately, but you were well aware of how easy it was to get lost in the day-to-day of your duties. His presence had become as much a part of your routine as anything else, though, unlike the paperwork, his presence made you… distracted.

You picked up the jacket, noting how perfectly it had been tailored to his broad shoulders. Dean looked good in that suit. Too good. But you weren’t going to let yourself dwell on that now. He was probably fast asleep by now, after all.

With a soft exhale, you turned to leave your bedroom. You could return the jacket to his room—he was likely asleep by now, probably in his bed, far enough from the office to miss your small intrusion. As you walked down the hallway toward his quarters, you couldn’t shake the lingering sense of curiosity about what was behind that closed door.

You reached his office, noticing that the door was slightly ajar. Of course, Dean never really seemed to care about privacy—either that, or he simply had no awareness of his own effect on people. You peered into the room, making sure he wasn’t awake, and decided to step in.

You wanted to be the considerate one—this wasn’t about your attraction to him, not entirely. You were the President; you had a job to do. So, with that in mind, you walked into the room and began to place the jacket at the foot of his bed. As you did so, you froze.

The bathroom door opened.

And there he was.

Dean.

The man was standing in the doorway, only a towel wrapped around his waist, his damp hair falling in wet curls around his face. His sharp jawline glistened with droplets of water, and his bare chest—oh, his bare chest—was the epitome of muscle and power. He was a goddamn vision in the soft light that filtered through the curtains. Your heart skipped a beat, and it was as though your brain had temporarily short-circuited, unable to process the sight before you.

He hadn’t noticed you yet.

You froze. He froze. The two of you stood there in the doorway for a moment, each unsure how to move, unsure how to act. Your breath caught in your throat.

You couldn’t believe this was happening.

Dean’s brow furrowed in surprise as he stepped back from the doorway, eyes widening slightly. His expression quickly morphed into a mixture of confusion and, dare you think it, amusement. “Well, this is awkward.”

You cleared your throat, suddenly aware of how completely unprepared you were for this moment. Your fingers fidgeted with the collar of his jacket as you offered an awkward, half-hearted smile. “I—uh—I came to bring your jacket back,” you said, your voice sounding far too casual for the circumstances. “I didn’t think you’d still be… up.”

Dean chuckled softly, running a hand through his damp hair as he took a step toward you. His muscles rippled under the dim light, and you couldn’t help but sneak a glance at the defined lines of his chest and abdomen. You forced yourself to look away, but it was hard.

“I wasn’t exactly planning on having company,” he said, voice low and rich, like velvet. You couldn’t help but notice how his gaze lingered on you, and for a split second, you felt his eyes trace over your form, not lingering on the obvious—your face—but rather… everything else. You couldn’t help the warmth that spread through you at that.

“Well, I didn’t mean to interrupt,” you stammered, trying to gather your thoughts, trying to focus. “I’ll just—um—I’ll just leave this here.”

Dean stepped closer, his proximity making the air thick with tension. “You’re not interrupting,” he said, his voice barely a whisper now. “It’s just…” He paused, his eyes flicking over you once again. “Well, this is… unexpected.”

It was impossible not to feel self-conscious now. The way his gaze moved over you—it wasn’t just lingering. It was studying, savoring. A shiver ran down your spine, and for a moment, you wondered if he could hear the frantic beating of your heart.

Your hands shook as you gently placed his jacket on the edge of the bed. You couldn’t even look him in the eye anymore. Why did you feel so… flustered? This wasn’t a presidential matter. It wasn’t official business. It was a man in a towel and a woman in sleepwear, both with an undeniable tension hanging in the air. You swallowed, trying to control your racing pulse.

“Dean,” you said, your voice trembling slightly. “You should… probably put some clothes on.”

Dean didn’t seem bothered by your comment. If anything, the grin that crept onto his face only deepened the tension. He looked you over again, eyes softening as his lips curled into something dangerously close to flirtation. “I’m not bothering you, am I?” he asked, his voice dripping with a teasing undertone.

“No,” you said quickly, far too quickly, and you mentally cursed yourself. “No, of course not. I was just… returning your jacket.”

“Mm-hmm.” Dean’s eyes darkened, and you could tell that he was amused. “You’re sure you didn’t come in here for something else?”

You stiffened, suddenly hyper-aware of how close he was now. The heat from his body seemed to radiate through the space between you, and it was enough to send your heart racing again. You cursed yourself internally—this was Dean. He was your bodyguard, and you were his charge. There was no room for these kinds of distractions.

“No,” you said, more firmly this time, even though your voice still betrayed you. “Just your jacket.”

Dean tilted his head slightly, still holding that maddeningly confident smirk. “Alright then.”

The moment stretched out, the awkwardness thick in the air as neither of you seemed to know how to proceed. The words didn’t come easy now, and all you could focus on was the man in front of you, his damp skin gleaming faintly in the low light, the way his eyes seemed to burn into yours.

“Well,” you finally said, your voice sounding smaller than you’d intended. “I should get going. I have a lot of work to do.”

Dean nodded slowly, his smirk never faltering. “Of course. I’ll let you get back to it.”

And yet, as you turned to leave, there was something in his eyes—something that made you second-guess your exit. Something that made your pulse quicken once again.

“Goodnight,” you said, your voice soft as you gave him a brief glance over your shoulder.

“Goodnight,” he echoed, his tone far warmer than before, his gaze lingering a moment too long.

And as you closed the door behind you, you couldn’t stop the rush of heat that spread across your cheeks. You had no idea why you were so flustered, but you couldn’t deny the undeniable pull that had just passed between you.

You silently cursed your attraction to him, but deep down, you couldn’t bring yourself to regret it.

Dean Winchester was proving to be one hell of a distraction.

The morning light filtered through the heavy curtains of the Oval Office, casting a soft golden glow over the room. The White House, as ever, was buzzing with activity, but inside the small dining area where you sat with Bella and Steph, it was just the three of you. Or, rather, it was supposed to be just the three of you.

You sat at the table, your breakfast half-finished but completely ignored. Your fork hovered in the air, the scrambled eggs barely touched. You’d barely registered that you were supposed to be eating. Your mind was elsewhere—on him.

Dean.

Your bodyguard.

Last night had been… distracting. A complete and utter disaster in the form of a ridiculously handsome man stepping out of the shower in nothing but a towel. And those eyes. Those dark, penetrating eyes that seemed to strip away any composure you had left. Your cheeks were still flushed thinking about it. You had tried to push the memory out of your head, but it clung to you like the scent of a perfume that wouldn’t wash away.

The way his damp hair fell over his forehead, the droplets of water glistening on his skin, the way his towel clung to his hips—God, your body had gone completely still in his presence, and not in the way you were used to. It wasn’t professional, it wasn’t rational, it was just hot.

You hadn’t even managed to get a proper word out, your mouth practically dry as you stood frozen in place. He’d looked at you, looked at you as though you were the only person in the room—and maybe you were.

You tore your gaze away from your plate for the hundredth time to look at Bella and Steph, both of whom were now watching you with amused expressions, one of them leaning forward, her elbows resting on the table.

Bella smirked, raising an eyebrow. “What’s up with you, huh? You seem like you’ve forgotten we exist.”

Steph, always more perceptive than Bella, grinned like a Cheshire cat. “Girl, you’re miles away. We could’ve talked about anything, but you’ve been staring at your eggs for, like, the last ten minutes. What’s going on?”

You swallowed thickly, trying to maintain your composure, but the truth was, you couldn’t focus on anything other than Dean. You hadn’t had a moment like that in… well, ever. You’d been attracted to men before, but this? This felt different.

Your hand unconsciously reached for your glass of water, but it wasn’t until you noticed Bella and Steph looking at you with knowing smiles that you snapped out of it. “What?” You almost jumped out of your skin, hoping they hadn’t noticed how lost you’d been.

Steph raised her cup of coffee and sipped it lazily. “Oh, nothing. Just wondering if your brain checked out of this conversation completely, or if it’s just playing hooky.”

You felt the heat rise to your cheeks, your skin suddenly feeling like it was on fire. You couldn’t lie to them—not really. Not when they had that look in their eyes. They weren’t stupid. They knew something was up.

Bella leaned in with a sly grin, her eyes practically sparkling with mischief. “We’ve been friends for how long now, huh? You’re telling us nothing happened last night? Nothing?”

You swallowed again, resisting the urge to shift uncomfortably in your seat. “What are you talking about?” you asked, trying to play it cool.

Steph didn’t let you off the hook. She put her coffee down and stared at you seriously, her eyes narrowing. “Come on, you were talking about him last night, and now you can’t even focus? You’ve been staring at that plate like it’s your first meal in months.”

Your heart pounded as the realization hit you—they knew. They were onto you.

You let out a shaky breath. You could feel your pulse racing, the thought of admitting what had happened last night making your stomach flip uncomfortably. “It’s just…” You trailed off, trying to find the words, your fingers nervously tapping the edge of your glass.

Bella’s smirk only widened. “Come on, tell us. What’s the deal with you and your very handsome bodyguard?”

Your breath caught. You hadn’t expected them to be so direct, and yet it was exactly what you needed. You let out a long breath, looking down at the table to avoid their eyes.

“I—uh—saw him,” you said, your voice barely a whisper. “I saw him after he got out of the shower last night.”

Steph’s eyebrows shot up. “Wait… what? You saw him? How much did you see?”

You quickly pressed your hands to your face, feeling the heat of embarrassment. “I didn’t mean to. I just went in to drop his jacket off, and the door was open and—he was right there.” You cringed, realizing you had practically sounded like an untrained schoolgirl.

Bella raised her hands in mock surrender, her grin widening. “Okay, okay, so you accidentally walked in on him after he showered and he was… what? Naked?”

“Well, not completely,” you muttered, the embarrassment quickly turning to something else—something much more distracting. You closed your eyes and took a deep breath. “But he was wearing just a towel. And—God, it was—” You could feel yourself getting flustered, your thoughts stumbling over each other. “It was like being hit by a freight train. He’s—he’s so damn hot.” You could feel the heat pooling in your chest.

Bella and Steph exchanged looks before both of them leaned forward, their eyes wide with excitement.

“Wait,” Bella said, her voice dropping dramatically. “So, let me get this straight. You saw him like that… and you’re just sitting here, pretending it didn’t melt your brain?”

You swallowed, leaning back in your chair, trying to gather yourself. The truth was, you couldn’t stop thinking about the way his towel had clung to his waist, the faint droplets of water still clinging to his skin, the way his eyes had locked onto yours, making your heart race in your chest. “I—I don’t know what to say. I just—I didn’t expect it, okay? He’s Dean. My bodyguard. He’s… well, he’s Dean. And I just—” You cut yourself off, embarrassed that you were so clearly fumbling.

Steph was practically glowing, her face alight with a mixture of amusement and admiration. “Okay, okay. So tell me this, though. How did he look? Like… was it as good as the pictures?”

You bit your lip, glancing down at the table again, trying to hide your smile. “Better,” you admitted, unable to help yourself. “He’s even better-looking than his photos.”

Bella burst out laughing, shaking her head. “Girl, you’re down bad. And I’m here for it.”

Steph joined in, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “This is so much better than I imagined. I’m living for this moment.”

You sighed dramatically, trying to hide the way your stomach flipped at the thought of Dean in nothing but a towel. “I just—why does he have to be so distracting?” You didn’t even realize you’d spoken the last part out loud until it was too late.

Steph and Bella both looked at each other with knowing smirks.

“You like him, don’t you?” Bella teased. “You’ve got it bad. I see it.”

You groaned, slumping into your chair in frustration. “I don’t know what’s happening,” you admitted, rubbing your forehead as if trying to erase the images of Dean from your mind. “I shouldn’t be thinking about him like this. I’m the President, for God’s sake.”

Steph reached across the table, patting your hand sympathetically. “Hey, you can’t help who you’re attracted to. But you are the President, so maybe take it slow, huh?”

You sighed again, your mind too clouded with thoughts of Dean, his strong arms, the way his voice had sent shivers down your spine. “Yeah, yeah, I’ll try.”

But deep down, you knew you were already too far gone to try and play it cool.

You were definitely down bad for Dean Winchester.

The small, sterile room Dean called his quarters in the White House was quiet except for the faint hum of the air conditioning. The night outside was dark and still, the corridors beyond his door silent as most of the staff retired for the evening. Dean sat on the edge of his bed, his boots kicked off and his tie loosened, staring at his phone as it buzzed against the nightstand.

The name on the screen gave him pause.

Benny Lafitte.

He hadn’t heard from Benny in a long time, but he wasn’t surprised to see the name now. If anyone could track him down, even inside the fortified walls of the White House, it was Benny. They had history—decades of shared jobs, secrets, and scars. Though Dean had walked away from that life, Benny had stayed behind, carving out his own path in the underworld.

Dean picked up the phone and answered with a quiet, “Benny. Long time, brother.”

The familiar Cajun drawl on the other end was as smooth as whiskey, tinged with a low, almost conspiratorial urgency. “Dean-o. You’re harder to reach these days. Guess it’s what happens when you’re babysitting royalty, huh?”

Dean let out a short laugh, though there was no humor behind it. “Yeah, something like that. What’s up? Didn’t think you’d call just to catch up.”

There was a brief pause, static crackling faintly in the background. Then Benny’s voice dropped, serious now. “I wouldn’t be callin’ if it wasn’t important. Figured I owed you a heads-up.”

Dean straightened, his instincts kicking in at the sudden change in tone. “What kind of heads-up?”

Benny sighed, the sound heavy with the weight of what he was about to say. “Got approached by some of Frank’s men. They wanted me to take out a contract. A big one.”

Dean’s blood ran cold. His jaw tightened, his grip on the phone hard enough to turn his knuckles white. He didn’t need to ask who the target was. He already knew. “You’re telling me they put out a hit on the President?”

“Yup,” Benny said, almost casually. But there was a current of tension beneath the calm. “Offered me a fat stack of cash to do it, too. Told me you’d gone soft, that you were playin’ house with the lady in charge and had betrayed the whole damn network.”

Dean swore under his breath, running a hand over his face. “And? What did you say?”

“I took their money, of course.” Benny chuckled lightly, but there was no mirth in it. “But relax, brother. I ain’t gonna do it. You know me better than that. Hell, I’d never hear the end of it if I put a bullet in your boss. Not that I’d wanna.”

Relief flooded Dean for a moment, but it was short-lived. The implications of what Benny was saying hit him hard. “Why the hell did you take the money, then?”

“Because it buys me time. If I’d said no, they’d just go to the next guy in line, and that guy might not be as nice as me. This way, I can stall ‘em. Play along for a bit, give you a chance to get your house in order.”

Dean gritted his teeth. “Benny—”

“Listen,” Benny interrupted, his tone sharper now. “You know how these things work. Frank’s boys are pissed, Dean. They think you flipped, and that ain’t something they’re gonna let slide. I don’t think I’m the only one they reached out to. They’re throwin’ money around like it’s candy, and you know what that means.”

Dean did. It meant a dozen guns aimed at the same target, and not all of them would hesitate.

“They’re gonna come for her,” Benny continued, his voice lower now. “And when they do, they ain’t gonna stop until someone cashes the check. You gotta be ready, man. Watch your six. Watch hers.”

Dean’s stomach tightened at the thought of you—working late into the night as you always did, pouring over documents, your brow furrowed in concentration. You were tough, no doubt about that, but this was a whole new level of danger. He didn’t like the thought of you being a target, vulnerable to the same ruthless world he’d worked so hard to leave behind.

“Yeah,” Dean said finally, his voice rough. “I’ll handle it.”

“You’d better,” Benny replied. “You’ve got somethin’ good here, Dean. Don’t let those bastards take it away from you.”

There was a pause, and for a moment, the line was quiet except for the faint hum of static. Then Benny added, softer now, “Take care of yourself, man. And her.”

“You too,” Dean muttered, then ended the call.

He sat there for a moment, the phone still in his hand, his thoughts racing. This wasn’t just about him anymore. It wasn’t just his life on the line. It was yours. You—the woman who had somehow managed to earn his respect and loyalty in such a short amount of time, the woman who had stood up for him when no one else would, who had looked him in the eye and trusted him despite everything she knew about his past.

Dean exhaled sharply and stood, shoving his phone into his pocket. He needed to focus, to plan. There were too many variables, too many unknowns. But one thing was certain: he wasn’t going to let anyone lay a finger on you. Not while he was around.

The name on the screen gave him pause.

Benny Lafitte.

Dean picked up the phone and answered with a quiet, “Benny. Long time, brother.”

Dean let out a short laugh, though there was no humor behind it. “Yeah, something like that. What’s up? Didn’t think you’d call just to catch up.”

Dean straightened, his instincts kicking in at the sudden change in tone. “What kind of heads-up?”

Benny sighed, the sound heavy with the weight of what he was about to say. “Got approached by some of Frank’s men. They wanted me to take out a contract. A big one.”

Dean swore under his breath, running a hand over his face. “And? What did you say?”

Relief flooded Dean for a moment, but it was short-lived. The implications of what Benny was saying hit him hard. “Why the hell did you take the money, then?”

Dean gritted his teeth. “Benny—”

Dean did. It meant a dozen guns aimed at the same target, and not all of them would hesitate.

“Yeah,” Dean said finally, his voice rough. “I’ll handle it.”

“You’d better,” Benny replied. “You’ve got somethin’ good here, Dean. Don’t let those bastards take it away from you.”

There was a pause, and for a moment, the line was quiet except for the faint hum of static. Then Benny added, softer now, “Take care of yourself, man. And her.”

“You too,” Dean muttered, then ended the call.

The next morning, you were in your office as usual, poring over a mountain of paperwork. The soft sound of your pen scratching against the paper filled the quiet room. You were wearing one of your usual tailored outfits, a blazer and skirt that somehow managed to look both professional and effortless. You were the picture of focus and determination, your brow furrowed slightly as you worked through the endless list of tasks that came with running the country.

But Dean couldn’t stop thinking about Benny’s warning. He stood just outside your office door, his arms crossed, his gaze scanning the hallway for any sign of trouble. His mind was a mess of plans and contingencies, all centered around keeping you safe. He knew the risks, knew the lengths to which Frank’s men would go. And he knew that if they made a move, it wouldn’t be subtle.

He couldn’t tell you—not yet, at least. You had enough on your plate without worrying about hitmen and criminal syndicates. But that didn’t mean he wasn’t going to do everything in his power to protect you.

Inside the office, you glanced up from your paperwork and caught sight of Dean through the glass panel in the door. He was standing there, stoic as ever, his sharp green eyes scanning the hallway with the kind of intensity that made your breath catch in your throat.

You couldn’t help but feel a strange sense of security whenever he was around. Despite his past, despite everything you knew about him, there was something about Dean that made you trust him implicitly. He was always there, always watching, always ready to step in if anything went wrong.

But there was something else, too—something you tried to ignore. The way your pulse quickened whenever he was near, the way your thoughts seemed to drift back to him no matter how hard you tried to focus. You’d never admit it, not even to yourself, but the truth was undeniable: Dean Winchester wasn’t just your bodyguard. He was the man who had somehow managed to turn your carefully ordered world upside down.

And now, whether you knew it or not, he was the man standing between you and the shadows creeping ever closer.

Dean’s grip on the hitman’s arm was like iron as he pushed him forward, moving swiftly through the corridors back toward where the Secret Service agents waited. The man squirmed and spat venomous words as they walked, his tone low and seething.

“You think she’s safe with you?” the hitman hissed, his voice cold and deliberate. “You’re just delaying the inevitable. People like her? Too many enemies. Too many people want her gone. She’ll never see it coming.”

Dean didn’t flinch, his jaw tightening as his icy green eyes bored into the back of the man’s head. He didn’t dignify the threat with a response, choosing instead to keep his focus forward, on getting this bastard into custody.

“Face it,” the man continued, his voice laced with malice. “This doesn’t end here. This is just the beginning.”

Dean stopped abruptly, yanking the man to a halt so forcefully that the hitman stumbled. Turning him sharply, Dean grabbed the front of the man’s shirt and pulled him close, his voice dangerously low. “You don’t know a damn thing about me, or her,” he said, his tone a cold growl that sent chills down the man’s spine. “If you so much as breathe another word about her, I’ll make sure you regret it.”

The hitman sneered, but Dean’s grip was unyielding. He shoved the man forward again, his pace brisk as he finally reached the waiting Secret Service detail outside the orphanage. The agents were already on high alert, their faces tense as they took in the scene.

“Take him,” Dean ordered, shoving the hitman into their custody. “Lock him down. Maximum security. I don’t want him talking to anyone but you, and only when I say so.”

The agents nodded, their professionalism evident as they hauled the man away, but the hitman’s threats lingered in the air. “She’s not safe. You’ll see!” he yelled, his voice echoing down the corridor as he was dragged out of sight.

Dean watched him go, his expression hard and unreadable. Only when the man was gone did he allow himself to breathe, his shoulders dropping slightly as the tension began to ease. But when he turned, his eyes immediately found you, standing near the corner of the room, trying your best to appear composed despite the chaos that had just unfolded.

You weren’t fooling him.

Even from a distance, Dean could see the subtle tremble in your hands as you folded them tightly against your chest. Your shoulders were stiff, your breaths shallow, and though you were making an admirable effort to mask the fear coursing through you, Dean knew better. He could see it in your eyes—the panic, the shock, the fear that you couldn’t quite shake.

Without hesitation, Dean walked over to you, his movements purposeful but calm, his footsteps steady against the polished floor. He didn’t say a word as he reached you, his towering presence immediately blocking out the rest of the world.

“C’mon,” he said softly, his voice gentle in a way you weren’t used to hearing. He placed a hand lightly on your back, guiding you toward a quieter, more secluded part of the orphanage where no one else would bother you.

You didn’t protest, your legs moving mechanically as you followed his lead. The shock was starting to set in now, a cold weight pressing against your chest as the events replayed in your mind. The laughter of the children, the sudden crack of the gunshot, the image of Dean stepping in front of you without hesitation—all of it played in a relentless loop, leaving you reeling.

Dean led you to a small, empty lounge at the back of the building, closing the door behind you to shut out the noise. The room was dimly lit, with a worn-out couch and a few scattered chairs, but it was quiet, and that was all that mattered.

As soon as the door clicked shut, you felt your composure begin to crack. Your breathing hitched, and you turned away from Dean, wrapping your arms around yourself in an attempt to hold it together.

But it was no use. The fear that had been building inside you finally spilled over, and before you knew it, you were trembling, tears welling in your eyes as your body betrayed you.

Dean saw it happen—the way your shoulders shook, the way you tried to hide your face as the tears started to fall. He didn’t hesitate. Closing the distance between you, he gently placed his hands on your shoulders, his touch firm but comforting.

“Hey,” he said softly, his voice steady and calm. “It’s okay. You’re okay.”

You shook your head, your voice breaking as you finally let the words spill out. “I— I thought I was fine. I thought I could handle it, but I—”

“You don’t have to handle it alone,” Dean interrupted, his tone leaving no room for argument. He moved closer, his hands sliding down to your arms as he turned you to face him. “I’ve got you, okay? I’m not gonna let anything happen to you.”

The sincerity in his voice was overwhelming, and it broke something inside you. The tears came harder now, and before you could stop yourself, you buried your face against his chest, your hands clutching at his shirt as the sobs wracked your body.

Dean didn’t hesitate. He wrapped his arms around you, holding you tightly as you let everything out. His hand moved to the back of your head, his fingers threading gently through your hair as he murmured softly, “I’ve got you. I’ve got you.”

You stayed like that for what felt like an eternity, the warmth of his embrace grounding you as the fear slowly ebbed away. Dean didn’t let go, his arms a steady presence that made you feel safer than you had in weeks.

Eventually, your sobs subsided, and your breathing evened out. You pulled back slightly, your cheeks flushed and your eyes red from crying, but there was a faint sense of relief in your chest now—a sense that, maybe, you weren’t as alone in this as you had feared.

“Sorry,” you mumbled, wiping at your eyes with the back of your hand. “I didn’t mean to—”

“Don’t,” Dean cut you off gently, his voice firm but kind. “You don’t have to apologize. You’ve been through a hell of a lot, and you’re allowed to feel what you’re feeling.”

You nodded, swallowing hard as you met his eyes. There was something in his gaze—an unwavering determination, a promise that you knew he would keep.

“Thank you,” you said softly, your voice barely above a whisper.

Dean gave you a small, reassuring smile, his hands still resting lightly on your arms. “You don’t have to thank me. It’s my job to keep you safe.”

But it wasn’t just his words that comforted you—it was the way he said them, the way he looked at you like you were more than just a job. Like you were someone worth protecting, someone worth fighting for.

And in that moment, as the world outside continued to spin in chaos, you let yourself believe him.

The night had settled in around the White House, and the silence in the halls was punctuated only by the faint hum of air conditioning and the distant murmur of security. Inside your bedroom, the air felt heavy, a mix of the warmth from the blankets tangled around your body and the cool unease that clung to you after the events of the day.

Dean had insisted on staying close after the shooting incident earlier, much to your initial hesitation. You were used to being independent, to handling things on your own, but after everything that had happened, his presence felt strangely comforting. So, when he asked if he could move a sofa into the hallway outside your room for the night, you hadn’t been able to say no.

You’d spent the evening trying to act like everything was normal—trying to forget the weight of the threat against your life, to put on a brave face for your staff, and for the children at the orphanage. But now, lying in bed, it felt impossible to escape the fear that had crept into your bones.

You turned over in bed, pulling the covers up to your chin as the darkness seemed to press in on you from all sides. Your mind wouldn’t quiet, the images of the gunshot and Dean rushing to protect you replaying over and over. Every sound seemed amplified in the stillness, and each shadow in the corners of the room seemed to take on a life of its own.

Suddenly, the silence was shattered by a loud crack of thunder, and you jolted upright in bed, your heart pounding in your chest. It wasn’t the storm that had startled you—it was the sudden nightmare, the sharp feeling of being hunted, of someone coming for you. You gasped for air as you tried to steady yourself, but the panic only grew, making your chest feel tight and your breathing shallow.

The nightmare had felt so real—the hitman’s words echoing in your mind, the cold barrel of a gun pressing to your temple, the realization that no matter what, you couldn’t escape.

You swallowed hard, blinking against the tears that threatened to spill. You could feel the familiar panic rising in your throat, threatening to choke you.

"Shit," you muttered to yourself, rubbing your hands over your face as if that could erase the fear. You didn’t want to wake up anyone, especially not Dean. He’d already done so much today—risked his life to protect you—and now you were losing it over a nightmare.

But as you lay there, trying to calm your breathing, you heard a faint noise—footsteps, muffled but steady. Your heart skipped a beat as the door to your room creaked open just slightly.

"Madam President?" Dean’s voice, low and rough, was a whisper in the dark.

You froze. How had he known? How had he heard you? You hadn’t even realized that you were still trembling until you heard his voice, and the warmth of it seeped through the panic that had a stranglehold on your chest.

"Dean?" you asked, your voice barely above a whisper. "What are you doing in here?"

"I heard you," he said simply, his tone steady. "I heard you wake up."

You could feel his presence before you saw him—tall, imposing, yet strangely gentle as he moved toward you in the dark. The soft creak of the floorboards beneath his boots was the only sound besides the steady thrum of your heartbeat.

"I’m fine," you said quickly, trying to sound more confident than you felt. "Just a bad dream."

Dean didn’t respond right away. Instead, there was a pause, and then the soft thud of his boots on the floor as he took a step closer. You felt his warmth before he even spoke, his voice rough but kind.

"Can I come in?" he asked, almost hesitant, as if waiting for you to give him permission.

You nodded, even though you didn’t really have to say it. You could feel the tension in the room—the mix of discomfort, vulnerability, and something else, something unspoken. But you couldn’t bring yourself to say no. There was something in the way he said it, in the way he always said everything. It wasn’t just the bodyguard, the protector—it was Dean.

"Yeah," you whispered, shifting slightly on the bed to make room for him.

The door creaked open wider, and a few moments later, you felt his weight settle beside you on the edge of the bed, his posture tense yet somehow relaxed. His presence filled the space, his scent—leather, soap, and something undeniably him—swirling around you as he leaned closer, his gaze searching yours in the dim light.

"Nightmare?" he asked softly, his voice almost too gentle, like he didn’t want to disturb the fragile calm that had settled between you.

You nodded, your eyes flickering to his face, trying to read the expression that was hidden in the darkness. You could feel the vulnerability creeping in again, the fear, but there was something else now—comfort. Safety.

"It wasn’t just the hitman," you said quietly, your voice a little shaky as the nightmare still lingered in your mind. "It was... everything. The fear. The constant feeling that I’m being watched, that I can’t even trust the walls of this place."

Dean nodded slowly, his eyes locking onto yours as if he understood more than you expected. You could see the intensity in his gaze, the way his jaw clenched as he processed your words.

"Hey," he said, his voice steady. "You don’t have to go through this alone."

You shook your head, trying to mask the knot of emotion that was tightening in your chest. "I don’t want to be a burden to you, Dean. You’ve already done so much for me."

Dean’s expression softened, his brow furrowing slightly. "You’re not a burden," he said firmly, his voice unwavering. "I’m here to protect you, but I’m also here for you. Whatever you need, I’ve got you."

His words were simple, but they hit you harder than you expected. It was the first time someone had said that to you in a long time, and you realized—more than you’d care to admit—that you wanted to believe him. That you needed to believe him.

The silence between you stretched, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. You could feel the weight of it, the quiet intimacy in the space between you. You tried to look away, but your eyes couldn’t seem to escape his. He was so close, just inches away, his warmth radiating toward you, his breath faintly brushing your skin.

You didn’t know who moved first—maybe it was him, maybe it was you—but before you could think twice, he was leaning in, his face inches from yours. Your breath caught in your throat as his gaze flickered down to your lips, and for a split second, the world seemed to slow, everything outside of this room fading away.

"Dean..." you whispered, the sound of his name on your lips hanging in the air like a promise.

"Shh," he murmured, his hand gently cupping the side of your face. His thumb brushed over your cheek, his touch surprisingly tender despite the raw intensity between you. "It’s okay. I’m here."

The words settled in your chest, a warmth spreading through you that chased away the lingering chill of the nightmare. For a moment, the world seemed to pause, and all you could do was stare at him, your heart pounding for an entirely different reason now.

Dean held your gaze, his green eyes searching yours as if trying to read every unspoken thought running through your mind. There was a tension in the air now, a charged moment that neither of you dared to break.

But then, as if sensing the shift, Dean cleared his throat and looked away, his hand dropping back to his side. “Do you... want me to stay?” he asked, his voice a little gruffer than before. “Just until you fall asleep?”

The offer was so unexpected, so selfless, that you felt your chest tighten. You nodded before you could second-guess yourself, your voice barely audible as you said, “Yeah. I’d like that.”

Dean stood, moving to grab a chair from the corner of the room and pulling it up beside your bed. He settled into it with a quiet sigh, his presence a comforting anchor as you lay back down.

“Get some rest,” he said softly, his eyes never leaving you. “I’ll be right here.”

And he was. Long after your breathing evened out and you drifted back to sleep, Dean stayed awake, watching over you like a sentinel. For all the nightmares that haunted your sleep, he was determined to be the one who kept them at bay.

The sun crept over the horizon, its golden light filtering through the curtains of your bedroom as you sat at your desk, absentmindedly shuffling through the stack of documents requiring your attention. But your mind wasn’t on the papers in front of you—it was still stuck on the events of the previous day. The gunshot, the chaos, Dean’s unwavering strength as he shielded you and took down the would-be assassin. You couldn’t seem to shake the residual fear that clung to you like a shadow.

You rubbed your eyes, trying to focus, when the sharp chime of the front doorbell startled you. Glancing at the clock, you frowned. It was far too early for visitors, and anyone official would have gone through the Secret Service detail stationed outside. Curious and slightly apprehensive, you pushed back from your desk and headed downstairs.

By the time you reached the grand foyer, Dean was already there, his tall figure filling the space as he opened the door. A rush of voices greeted him, and you paused at the foot of the stairs, narrowing your eyes as Bella and Steph barged inside, each dragging a large suitcase behind them.

“Oh, good morning, Madam President!” Bella chirped, her bright smile completely at odds with the scene unfolding.

“You look like you’ve been up all night,” Steph observed, her brow furrowing as she took you in. She turned to Bella. “She’s probably traumatized.”

“Absolutely,” Bella agreed, spinning back toward you. “That’s why we’re moving in.”

You blinked, staring at the two women as if they’d just announced they were planning to annex a small country. “Wait, what?”

Steph rolled her suitcase to the side, parking it neatly against the wall before crossing her arms. “You almost got killed yesterday. Killed. Bella and I talked it over, and we decided you shouldn’t be alone right now.”

“I’m not alone,” you argued weakly, gesturing to the security detail outside and Dean, who was standing with his arms crossed, his expression unreadable. “I have, you know, professionals to keep me safe.”

Bella shook her head, her blonde curls bouncing with the movement. “Professionals can’t keep you company at two a.m. when you’re spiraling, thinking about what could have happened. We can.”

Steph chimed in, her tone firm. “We’re not taking no for an answer. And besides,” she added with a sly grin, “your guest rooms are bigger than my entire apartment.”

You opened your mouth to protest further, but the sheer determination in their eyes made it clear that you were fighting a losing battle. Instead, you turned to Dean, raising an eyebrow. “Do you know anything about this?”

Dean’s lips twitched, the closest thing to a smile you’d seen from him since the assassination attempt. “Might’ve mentioned it to them,” he said casually, his deep voice carrying a hint of amusement. “Figured you could use some backup.”

For a moment, you just stared at him, caught off guard by the quiet thoughtfulness behind his actions. The corners of your mouth lifted in a small, genuine smile. “Thank you,” you said softly, the words carrying more weight than you intended.

Dean nodded, his gaze steady and reassuring, before stepping aside to let you deal with your unexpected houseguests.

Bella and Steph wasted no time, each grabbing a suitcase and heading for the stairs. “Come on,” Bella called over her shoulder. “Let’s get you set up with some real TLC.”

You followed them up to your bedroom, your protests fading as the reality of their presence began to sink in. While part of you wanted to cling to the independence and stoicism you prided yourself on, another part—the part that had spent the previous night battling fear and doubt—was deeply relieved to have them here.

Once inside your bedroom, Bella and Steph immediately set about making themselves at home. Bella perched on the edge of your bed, her sharp eyes scanning your face for any signs of distress, while Steph began unpacking a small bag filled with snacks, tea, and what appeared to be an entire pharmacy’s worth of calming supplements.

“All right,” Bella said, clapping her hands together. “Talk to us. How are you feeling? And don’t say ‘fine,’ because we know that’s a lie.”

You sighed, sitting down in the armchair near the window. “I’m… managing,” you said carefully. “It was terrifying, yes, but I’m trying to focus on the fact that I’m okay now. And that Dean was there.”

Steph raised an eyebrow. “Dean, huh? You’ve been mentioning him a lot lately.”

Bella leaned forward, a wicked grin spreading across her face. “Oh, is that what this is about? You’re swooning over your hot bodyguard?”

“Bella,” you groaned, rubbing your temples. “That’s not what I meant, and you know it.”

“Uh-huh,” she teased, but the playful tone softened as she added, “Seriously, though, it’s okay to feel shaken up. You don’t have to be the President right now. You can just be you. And we’re here for that.”

The sincerity in her voice made your chest tighten, and you felt a surge of gratitude for these two women who knew you better than almost anyone. For all their teasing and antics, they had an uncanny ability to make you feel grounded when everything else seemed to be spiraling out of control.

Steph handed you a steaming mug of tea, her expression gentler than usual. “Drink this. And then we’re going to binge-watch something ridiculous until you forget all about yesterday.”

You took the mug with a small smile, letting their warmth and care wrap around you like a shield.

As you settled back into the plush armchair, sipping the warm tea that Steph had handed you, the stress of the morning slowly began to melt away. The soothing scent of chamomile and honey helped ease the tightness in your chest, but the constant undercurrent of unease from the near-assassination attempt still lingered, just below the surface. You hadn’t realized how much you missed the presence of your friends—the comfort they brought was like an anchor in the storm of responsibilities and expectations that weighed on you every day.

As you glanced around the room, Bella was already making herself comfortable on the edge of your bed, her legs stretched out as she scrolled through her phone. Steph, meanwhile, was rummaging through the contents of her suitcase, looking particularly determined as she dug around in the neatly packed clothes.

“Where’s my damn nail kit?” Bella muttered under her breath, sounding mildly annoyed.

You couldn’t help but chuckle. Bella was always the one with the meticulous packing. Her suitcase was an organized chaos of products and clothes, but nothing ever seemed to be in the right place when she needed it.

“Why the hell would you put it in my bag?” Steph shot back, not looking up from her task. “I told you to pack your own damn stuff.”

“Oh, please,” Bella retorted, lifting an eyebrow. “I’m not the one who accidentally packed your pajamas in my bag last time.”

Steph let out an exasperated sigh, but she didn’t answer right away. Instead, she continued to search through Bella’s bag, grumbling to herself. You could tell this was a typical exchange for the two of them—bantering back and forth in a way that felt both natural and comforting, like the kind of bickering siblings might engage in.

“I’m pretty sure it’s not in there,” Steph finally said, giving up her search for a moment. “You probably packed it in your other bag.”

“You’re impossible,” Bella replied, crossing her arms in frustration. “But, fine, let’s see.” She leaned over, giving a dramatic sigh. “Why did I even bring you on this trip?”

“Because you love me,” Steph said smugly, her hands now diving into the depths of her other bag.

“Yeah, yeah, whatever,” Bella muttered, her focus now back on her phone as she scrolled through a feed of photos. “But seriously, where did you put it?”

“Got it!” Steph called out triumphantly, pulling a small, glittery pouch from the bottom of her suitcase and waving it in the air like a prize.

Bella’s face lit up as she clapped her hands together. “I knew it. Thank you!”

“Don’t mention it,” Steph said flatly, but the corners of her mouth twitched upward in a small, knowing smile.

“You’re still a pain in my ass,” Bella teased, rolling her eyes as she reached for the nail kit.

Steph responded with a mock grimace. “I’m sure you love it.”

“You’re damn right I do,” Bella shot back with a wink. She turned her attention to you, her eyes glinting with excitement. “Okay, reader, you’ve been through hell today. It’s time for some pampering.”

Before you could even protest, Bella had already pulled out a nail file and was lifting one of your hands, inspecting your nails with a critical eye. “These are a tragedy,” she said dramatically, making you laugh. “We can’t have the President walking around with nails like these. We need to fix that immediately.”

You raised an eyebrow, feigning hesitation. “I don’t know if I’m really in the mood for a full-on nail makeover. I kind of just want to… relax?”

“Exactly,” Bella said, giving your hand a reassuring squeeze. “That’s why we’re doing this. You’ve been running on overdrive since the election. You need a break. So, while I work my magic on these nails,” she said, pulling out a bottle of a glittery polish from her kit, “Steph is going to put on one of our favorite shows, and we’re all going to pretend the world outside doesn’t exist.”

Steph finally settled down next to you on the bed, flicking the TV remote. “You’ll be fine. You can zone out while I put on F.R.I.E.N.D.S. and we have a mini girls’ night.”

You couldn’t help but smile at the sight of your two best friends working together, their playful dynamic soothing you. “You two really do know how to make everything better.”

Bella shot you a grin as she picked out the nail polish color, holding it up for you to see. “It’s what we’re here for, babe.”

As she began painting your nails with surprising precision, you leaned back into the pillows, feeling the tension in your body ease with each gentle stroke. The bright colors Bella chose were a stark contrast to the darker, more somber thoughts that had plagued you earlier that morning.

Steph was already flipping through the episodes of F.R.I.E.N.D.S., humming quietly under her breath as the opening credits played. “This is just what the doctor ordered,” she said happily, glancing over at you. “You’re going to feel so much better by the end of this.”

The familiar theme song filled the room as the opening scene of Monica’s apartment flashed on the screen, and you relaxed further into the bed, feeling safe and comforted by the laughter of your friends, the silly antics of the show, and the soothing, gentle touch of Bella as she worked on your nails.

“So,” Bella asked casually, glancing at you while she carefully worked on your other hand, ��how’s everything really going with… him?” She winked, giggling. “Like, I know he’s your dibs, I respect girl code, but men like him are probably why I’m bisexual.”

You blinked in surprise, though the question didn’t come as a total shock. You knew exactly who she was referring to—Dean. Your mind immediately flashed to the way he’d been there for you yesterday, how he’d protected you without a second thought, his presence a steadying force. He was your bodyguard, yes, but the dynamic between you two had shifted in the past few days. You felt a connection, a bond that went beyond duty or professionalism, and it was hard to ignore.

“I’m… not sure,” you admitted, your voice quieter than usual. “It’s complicated.”

Steph raised an eyebrow, glancing up from the show. “Complicated how?”

You thought for a moment, unsure how much you wanted to reveal. After all, things had barely started between you and Dean. Yet there was something undeniably magnetic about him. “He’s… kind of impossible not to notice. And I don’t mean just because he’s hot—though, that definitely doesn’t hurt,” you said with a slight laugh, feeling your cheeks warm. “But it’s more than that. He’s protective, and he’s smart… and he just gets me, you know? It’s like he’s always there when I need him, without hesitation. It’s… kind of overwhelming.”

Bella smiled knowingly, nodding as she worked on perfecting your nails. “I get it. I can see the way you two look at each other. It’s like the rest of the world doesn’t exist when he’s near you.”

Steph chuckled. “You’ve got the hots for him, don’t you?”

You sighed dramatically, but deep down, you knew they were right. “I do,” you admitted, rolling your eyes. “But he’s my bodyguard. It’s complicated.”

Bella finished your nails with a flourish, and she leaned back, admiring her handiwork. “You’re allowed to be complicated,” she said softly, her voice warm. “You don’t have to have everything figured out right now. Just… take it one step at a time. And, in the meantime, let’s watch some episodes of F.R.I.E.N.D.S. and forget about the world for a little while.”

The minutes passed by quickly as the hum of F.R.I.E.N.D.S. continued to fill the room, the soft glow of the television providing a cozy atmosphere as you settled deeper into the plush pillows. Bella had finished your nails with the kind of perfection only she could manage, and you couldn’t help but smile at the cheerful colors now adorning your fingers. They were bright, bold, and utterly distracting—just what you needed to take your mind off everything.

Steph, who had been completely absorbed in the show, suddenly glanced at her watch, then got up with a mischievous glint in her eyes. “Alright, ladies,” she said with a smirk, “time for the next step of the evening’s relaxation plan.”

You raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “What’s next?”

With a dramatic flair, Steph marched over to her suitcase and pulled out a stack of fluffy, soft robes. They were as white as snow and looked incredibly cozy, the kind of fabric that felt like it could wrap you up in a warm hug. “Time to trade those outfits in for something even more comfy,” she said, tossing the robes toward you and Bella. “But first,” she added with a sly grin, “we’ll need to change into these in the bathroom.”

You blinked, unsure of where this was going. “The bathroom?”

“Yep,” she said, already heading toward the door with a mischievous look on her face. “One at a time. You go first.”

Bella laughed and stood up. “Oh, I see what’s going on here,” she said with a wink at you. “Steph’s getting us all into these robes so we can feel like a spa day... and so she can make fun of us when we look ridiculous.”

You sighed, but the offer of comfort and relaxation was too good to resist. Besides, you were in no mood to argue. “Fine, I’ll go,” you muttered, standing up and grabbing the robe from the pile. You could hear Bella snickering as she took her own robe and headed toward the bathroom, clearly enjoying the lightheartedness of the moment.

When you entered the bathroom, you shut the door behind you and slipped the robe over your shoulders. The softness of the fabric immediately made you feel more at ease, and you couldn’t help but smile at the indulgence of it all. For a brief moment, it was like everything else—everything overwhelming and terrifying—was forgotten. You simply allowed yourself to enjoy the comfort of the robe, the soft scent of your body lotion mixing with the fluffy material.

A couple of minutes later, you emerged from the bathroom, still adjusting the robe’s belt around your waist. The others were already sitting on the bed, each of them wearing the same white robe, looking relaxed and... well, a little silly, but in the best way possible.

Steph looked up from her phone, raising an eyebrow. “Okay, not bad. You clean up pretty well, President.”

You rolled your eyes playfully. “Very funny, Steph.”

“Yeah,” Bella chimed in, giving you a teasing smile, “you look like you should be sipping mimosas by the pool somewhere.”

You smirked at her. “I can’t help it if I look good in a robe. Some of us are blessed.”

Steph let out a soft laugh. “Yeah, okay, Miss Universe,” she teased, then immediately grabbed a pint of ice cream from the small cooler beside the bed. “Now that we’re all properly robed, time to enjoy some ice cream. And, of course, time for some serious girl talk.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Girl talk?”

“Oh, you know,” Steph said with a knowing look, taking the first scoop of ice cream. “Like, you and your bodyguard.”

You froze, spoon halfway to your mouth. “What?”

“Don’t pretend like you don’t know what I’m talking about,” Steph added, her voice slightly more serious now, though she couldn’t hide the teasing smile. “I saw the way you were looking at him earlier. I think it’s time we have a veryserious discussion about the attraction that’s clearly there.”

You let out a dramatic groan, sinking back into the pillows with a sigh. “Oh my God, not this again. I’m not trying to hook up with Dean.”

Steph’s eyes sparkled. “You don’t have to hook up with him to admit that he’s got you hot under the collar. You’ve barely had him in your sights for a couple of weeks, but I can already tell. You’re into him.”

You shot her a look. “You guys are impossible.”

Bella laughed, nudging you with her elbow. “I don’t know if she’s that into him yet, but I mean, come on. The guy is seriously attractive. Have you seen him without his shirt?”

You could feel the heat rising in your cheeks. “Can we please not talk about this? Seriously?”

But Bella was relentless. “Oh, I’m sorry, I thought we were adults here,” she teased, scooping up some ice cream. “But fine, if you’re gonna be like that, I’ll drop it... for now. Let’s talk about something more fun.”

You were more than happy to change the subject, even if Bella’s antics were making the entire situation way more awkward. “Fine. What else?”

Bella shrugged, not missing a beat. “Well, you know what? I met this guy the other day. You’d like him, actually. His name’s Benny. He’s a... well, he’s a lot of things, but most importantly, he’s got this aura of danger about him. You know the type, right?”

You blinked, surprised by the shift in conversation. “Benny?”

“Yes,” she replied, her voice lowering slightly as she grinned. “And he’s so hot. I mean, he’s... rugged. Like, maybe a little rough around the edges. He’s got this bad-boy energy, but it’s not obnoxious. It’s... mysterious, you know?”

You could tell by the sparkle in her eye that she was more than a little taken with him. And, judging by the way she was describing him, it seemed like she was intrigued by the idea of the “dangerous type.” You leaned forward slightly, glancing at her curiously. “So, what’s the deal with him? What’s his story?”

Bella didn’t seem at all phased by the sudden interest. “Oh, he’s got history. Some shady business, for sure. But he’s... not exactly the kind of guy who would ever mess with you, if you catch my drift. He’s just got this... commanding presence. Like, I can’t help but feel like he’s the kind of guy who would step in and take care of things if they got out of hand.”

Steph raised an eyebrow, clearly entertained by Bella’s sudden enthusiasm. “Sounds like your type.”

Bella rolled her eyes. “Shut up, Steph. You’re just jealous because I met him first.”

Steph laughed. “I wouldn’t say jealous. But, damn, it sounds like Benny’s got a few layers to him. So, what’s his deal?”

“His deal is that he’s complicated,” Bella said, taking another scoop of ice cream. “But it’s a good kind of complicated. I think he likes me, but it’s hard to tell. He’s not exactly the type to express his feelings with words. More like actions, if you get what I mean.”

You could see where this was going. “Sounds like trouble.”

“Oh, it is,” Bella agreed without missing a beat. “But, hey, I like trouble. Keeps things interesting.”

Steph shook her head, her amusement clear. “Girl, you’re too much. But I get it. Benny sounds like someone who can handle his own, which is exactly what you want. That’s your jam.”

You sat back, still processing the conversation. It seemed like everyone around you had their own form of chaos and attraction in their lives—whether it was the obvious pull between you and Dean, or Bella’s own flirtations with a mysterious guy named Benny. Maybe you were just getting older, but you couldn’t help but feel a little overwhelmed by it all.

But, as the ice cream melted and the show continued on in the background, you allowed yourself a moment of peace. After everything that had happened, the threats, the danger, and the intensity of your life as President, this—this moment of laughter, of comfort, of friendship—was exactly what you needed.

“Alright,” Steph said, breaking the silence. “Enough about us and our interesting love lives. Let’s focus on you, Madam President. You’re due for a serious pampering session. After all, it’s not every day you almost get assassinated.”

The knock on the door was soft, yet distinct, interrupting the moment of calm you had found with Bella and Steph. You sat up from the pillows, glancing over your shoulder at the door, feeling the peaceful moment shift slightly. Bella, who had been intently watching the television, seemed to notice it too, her eyes narrowing with a grin.

“Who’s at the door?” she asked, her voice full of curiosity, as if she already knew the answer.

“I’ll check,” you said, standing up from the bed and wrapping the robe more securely around yourself. It was a loose, white fluffy robe you had put on after your mini pampering session, still feeling its soft comfort as you crossed the room to the door. Your bare feet made no sound on the soft carpet as you walked over.

You opened the door, not expecting much, but what you saw was enough to stop you for a moment.

Dean stood in front of you, leaning against the doorframe, looking… well, as always, impossibly attractive. His broad shoulders were outlined in a black shirt, which clung to his muscles in all the right ways. His stance was casual, but the way his gaze flickered over your body made your breath catch in your throat.

“Uh…” He looked at you, his expression changing from neutral to one of awkwardness, like he wasn’t quite sure how to react. His eyes slowly moved down to take in the sight of you standing there in nothing but your robe, the fluffy material clinging to your frame just enough to remind him of how intimate the situation felt.

You could feel the heat rush to your cheeks, though you tried to mask it with a casual smile. "Hey, Dean," you greeted, hoping you didn’t sound too flustered. “What’s up?”

Dean shifted on his feet slightly, like he was trying to decide whether or not to step inside or stay outside, the tension palpable between you. "Just checking in," he said, his voice low, almost awkward, as if unsure if he was intruding on something. He looked you over again, his eyes lingering for just a bit longer than usual. "Are you… are you okay?"

You couldn’t help but notice the way his gaze seemed to rove over you, the intensity of it making your heart race. You raised an eyebrow, hoping to keep the situation light. "Yeah, I’m fine," you reassured him, stepping back to let him in, though you couldn’t deny the way your body was reacting to the proximity. “I’m just relaxing a little, taking a break.”

Dean nodded, but he didn’t move any closer. Instead, he stood there, a little stiff, clearly torn between doing his job and maybe wanting to stay a little longer, just to talk or check in. His eyes flickered down to the floor for a second before snapping back up to meet yours. "Good. Just wanted to make sure," he mumbled, clearly not comfortable with the situation, but still trying to be considerate.

Behind you, Bella and Steph were watching the interaction with all the intensity of spectators watching a spicy scene in a movie, their eyes flicking between you and Dean like they were waiting for something to happen. Bella was the first to break the silence, her voice laced with a playful teasing.

“So… looks like someone’s got a visitor,” she said, her tone full of amusement.

You turned your head, realizing what she was hinting at. “Can you not?” you muttered under your breath, a bit embarrassed.

But Bella was relentless. “Oh, don’t act like you’re not enjoying it,” she teased further, her eyes shifting between the two of you. “It’s obvious you two have chemistry.”

You could feel your pulse quicken, the sudden realization that Dean was still standing in your doorway, watching everything unfold. You cleared your throat and quickly turned to Dean, smiling awkwardly. “I… I’m sorry about this,” you said, hoping to change the subject before things got even more uncomfortable. “You know how they are.”

Dean’s lips quirked into a tiny smile, though it didn’t reach his eyes. “No problem,” he said, his tone still a little strained. But you couldn’t help but notice how his eyes lingered on you, how they flickered over your bare arms, the way your robe was falling just slightly off one shoulder.

“Right.” You nodded, shifting on your feet, unsure of what to do with this sudden surge of tension in the room. It was like everything had shifted, and neither of you quite knew how to handle it.

Bella leaned back against the bed, looking far too entertained. “Yeah, sure. No big deal,” she said, clearly enjoying watching the two of you dance around each other. “Nothing to see here, just two people who obviously want to kiss each other already.”

“Bella!” you hissed, your face burning with embarrassment.

Steph, who had been watching silently, suddenly perked up with a mischievous glint in her eyes. “Oh, this is getting good. You guys are so obvious.” She leaned forward, clearly enjoying every moment of the interaction. “Come on, what’s the harm in admitting it? We all see it. You two are practically giving off sparks.”

You groaned, turning to Dean for support, but the way he was standing—awkwardly stiff, his gaze not quite meeting yours—told you that he was just as flustered as you were. It was then that you realized you had both been giving off a lot more energy than either of you intended. The sexual tension between you had been growing since he started working for you, but now it felt almost unbearable.

Dean scratched the back of his neck, trying to ease the tension with a laugh that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Yeah, well…” He looked at the floor for a second, then back at you. “I should probably… get going.”

You couldn’t help but feel a slight pang of disappointment at his words, though you quickly masked it. “Of course,” you said, your voice light but your heart thumping in your chest. “Thanks for checking in, Dean.”

He nodded, still standing in the doorway, looking like he wasn’t sure how to leave. The silence stretched between you, and for a moment, you both just stood there, the distance between you feeling far more significant than it should have.

Before he could leave, however, Bella’s voice broke the moment. “Oh, come on, don’t leave so soon,” she called out to him with a teasing grin. “Stick around. You’re welcome to join us, right?”

Dean looked at her, his expression momentarily lost for words, and then he glanced back at you, his eyes softening slightly. You caught that look—a look that, if you were being honest with yourself, made your heart flutter just a bit.

“You know,” he began slowly, his voice quieter than before, “I probably should get going. But maybe… I’ll stop by later?”

You smiled, trying to keep the situation light. “Yeah, I’d like that,” you replied, your voice betraying a little more warmth than you intended.

He nodded, his eyes lingering on you for a beat longer than necessary before he finally turned and left, closing the door behind him with a soft click.

Bella let out a dramatic sigh, making a show of fanning herself. “Okay, that was definitely hot,” she said, leaning back into the pillows with a grin that practically screamed satisfaction.

You dropped your head into your hands. “I’m going to die of embarrassment.”

Steph just grinned, clearly not feeling any sympathy for your plight. “Oh, come on. You two are like the most obvious couple I’ve ever seen.”

“Not a couple,” you muttered, still trying to recover from the awkwardness. “Just… two people who have a lot of unresolved tension.”

“Well, that’s basically the same thing,” Bella said, tossing a pillow at you. “And trust me, honey, it’s not just you two noticing it. Everyone can see it.”

You groaned and buried your face in the pillow, wishing for a moment of peace. “I don’t know what to do about it. He’s my bodyguard… and he’s, like, way out of my league.”

Steph raised an eyebrow, her tone full of sarcasm. “Out of your league? Please. That man is practically begging for you to make the first move. You think he doesn’t notice how you look at him?”

“I’m not the one checking him out,” you protested weakly.

“Girl, you are so checking him out,” Bella teased, as she reached over and grabbed a fresh pint of ice cream. “But no worries, we’ve got your back. We’ll get you two together. Just wait.”

You sighed deeply, wishing for a distraction. “You guys are impossible.”

“Well, what’s the harm in admitting it?” Bella said with a wicked grin. “You’re both hot as hell, and you’re practically walking around with ‘we want each other’ written all over your faces.”

Steph snorted. “It’s too cute. You guys are so obvious.”

The morning sunlight filtered through the tall windows of the presidential residence, casting golden streaks across the hardwood floor of your office. You sat behind your desk, your trusty planner open in front of you as Becky stood to the side, rattling off the day’s itinerary. Her pen tapped against her clipboard, her sharp, efficient tone filling the room.

“All right,” Becky began, flipping a page with practiced ease. “You’ve got a meeting with the Secretary of Energy at nine, then a quick photo op with the ambassador from Sweden at eleven. Lunch is at noon, though I assume you’ll skip eating again.” She gave you a pointed look.

You smirked faintly but didn’t respond.

“After that,” she continued, tapping her pen against the clipboard, “there’s a meeting with the education reform committee, and then—oh, the gardener called in sick. Something about a sprained wrist.”

You paused mid-note, looking up. “The gardener’s off today?”

Becky nodded, her brows knitting together slightly. “Yeah, which means the lawn won’t get mowed, the flowerbeds won’t get watered, and the press will probably have something to say about how the grounds are being ‘neglected.’” Her tone was sarcastic, but her words were pointed. You could already imagine the headlines.

You sighed, leaning back in your chair and running a hand through your hair. The lawn might not have been at the top of your priority list, but it mattered enough to make you want to do something about it. The pristine appearance of the grounds was one of those unspoken expectations that came with your role. “We’ll figure something out,” you murmured, mostly to yourself.

Becky raised an eyebrow. “Sure. Just add ‘landscaping duties’ to your already-packed schedule, why don’t you?” She flipped another page, moving on. “Anyway, after the education meeting—”

The sound of a light knock interrupted her, and you glanced up to see Dean stepping into the room. He moved with that effortless confidence you’d come to associate with him, though there was always an undercurrent of alertness in his stride. His sharp eyes scanned the room briefly before settling on you.

“Sorry to interrupt,” he said, his voice deep and steady, “but I wanted to check in before the meeting with Energy.”

You smiled faintly, gesturing for him to come in. “You’re not interrupting. Becky was just going over today’s schedule.”

Dean nodded, leaning casually against the doorframe. His presence was as steadying as always, though there was something about the way he watched you—like he was always two steps ahead, ready to act at a moment’s notice. It was reassuring, in a way.

You closed your planner with a soft thud and looked up at him. “Actually, there’s something you might be able to help with.”

He tilted his head slightly, intrigued. “What’s that?”

“The gardener’s off sick,” you explained, leaning forward with your elbows on the desk. “Which means the lawn won’t get mowed, and the flowerbeds won’t get watered.”

Dean raised an eyebrow, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “You’re worried about the lawn?”

You shrugged, a small laugh escaping you. “Not worried, exactly, but I’d rather avoid giving the press another reason to complain.”

He considered this for a moment, then straightened up. “I can handle it.”

You blinked, taken aback. “You?”

“Yeah.” He shrugged, his casual tone making it sound like no big deal. “I’ve mowed a lawn before, you know. Not exactly rocket science.”

Becky let out a disbelieving laugh. “You’re telling me Dean Winchester, ex-hitman turned presidential bodyguard, is going to play gardener?”

Dean shot her a dry look. “I’ve done worse jobs.” Then he turned back to you, his expression softening slightly. “Seriously, I don’t mind. It’s not like I’ve got much else to do when you’re in meetings all day.”

You hesitated, torn between practicality and the sheer absurdity of the image that had just popped into your head—Dean, mowing the presidential lawn in his usual no-nonsense way. It was almost too surreal to imagine.

“I don’t know,” you said slowly, though a small smile was starting to tug at your lips. “It feels a little... beneath your pay grade.”

Dean smirked. “What, you think I’m too good for yard work?”

“Well, yeah,” you said, laughing lightly. “You’re kind of overqualified.”

He leaned against the desk slightly, his grin widening. “Let me guess—you don’t think I can handle it.”

You rolled your eyes. “I didn’t say that.”

“Good,” he said, straightening up again. “Because I’ll have it done before your lunch meeting. You won’t even notice.”

Becky shook her head, clearly baffled but amused. “This is officially the weirdest thing I’ve seen since I started working here.”

Dean ignored her, his attention still focused on you. “Consider it handled,” he said, his tone leaving no room for argument. Then he turned and left, leaving you sitting there with a mix of amusement and curiosity swirling in your chest.

The hum of the lawnmower floated through the open windows of your office as you glanced up from your desk. Dean had offered to take care of the lawn when you mentioned the gardener was off sick. It was a kind gesture, and you’d laughed softly at the mental image of your ruggedly handsome bodyguard mowing the pristine presidential lawn.

Now, though, curiosity got the better of you. With a quiet sigh, you set your pen down and stepped toward the window. The curtains fluttered in the breeze, and as you pulled them back, your breath caught.

There he was, Dean Winchester, pushing the lawnmower with ease, his strong arms flexing with each step. His dark t-shirt clung to his shoulders and back, soaked with a light sheen of sweat from the sun beating down on him. The way he moved was hypnotic, the grace of his steps belying the fact that he was wielding a piece of heavy machinery.

You told yourself it was simple admiration for his work ethic. That you were just impressed by how effortlessly he took on any task. But when he stopped the mower, pulled the hem of his shirt over his head, and tossed it onto a nearby chair before grabbing the garden hose, your thoughts betrayed you.

Dean stood there in the sunlight, shirtless, droplets of sweat glistening on his chest and abs as he twisted the nozzle of the hose. You couldn’t stop staring. His muscles rippled as he adjusted the water pressure, the casual, unselfconscious way he moved making it impossible to look away. His jeans hung low on his hips, a dusting of grass clippings clinging to his legs, and you swore you could hear your heartbeat in your ears.

“Enjoying the show?”

You nearly jumped out of your skin at Bella’s voice. Turning quickly, you saw her and Steph standing in the doorway, matching mischievous grins on their faces. Bella held up a pair of binoculars and wiggled them teasingly.

“Oh my God,” you groaned, pressing a hand to your forehead. “You two are ridiculous.”

“Ridiculous?” Steph asked, crossing her arms as she sidled up to the window. “Ridiculously right, you mean. That man is straight out of a Wattpad story, and you know it.”

You tried to play it cool, stepping back from the window and giving them both a pointed look. “He’s just mowing the lawn.”

Bella snorted. “And I suppose he’s shirtless for practical reasons?”

“He’s watering the garden now,” Steph added, peeking through the binoculars. “And damn, is it getting steamy out there.”

You tried to hold your ground, but their playful commentary was impossible to ignore. Bella nudged your shoulder with the binoculars. “Come on, admit it. You were checking him out.”

“I was not,” you lied, crossing your arms defensively.

Steph gave you a look. “Uh-huh. Sure. Look, we get it. He’s a literal walking thirst trap. If I had a bodyguard like that, I’d be weak in the knees every time he said ‘good morning.’”

“I don’t—” You started, but Bella cut you off with a knowing smirk.

“Relax,” she said, handing you the binoculars. “We’re just saying what you’re too proud to admit. Now, go on, have a look. We won’t judge.”

Against your better judgment, you took the binoculars. Just for a second, you told yourself. Just long enough to prove them wrong.

When you raised them to your eyes, the detail was… unfair. Dean had switched to watering the flowerbeds, standing with one hand on his hip as the other directed the stream of water over the delicate blooms. His expression was relaxed, almost thoughtful, as if he were contemplating something far deeper than the task at hand. The sunlight caught the droplets of water spraying into the air, and for a brief moment, it looked like he was standing in a golden mist.

“Wow,” Steph murmured from beside you. “Even through binoculars, that man is fine.”

Bella leaned in, her grin widening. “See? Wattpad story.”

You couldn’t help the small laugh that escaped you, lowering the binoculars and shaking your head. “You two are impossible.”

“Oh, we’re impossible?” Bella teased. “You’re the one ogling your bodyguard like it’s a scene from Magic Mike: Presidential Edition.”

Steph clapped her hands together. “Oh, that’s good. I’d buy tickets to that movie.”

You groaned again, but this time it was more amused than exasperated. Bella and Steph had a way of making even the most mortifying situations feel lighthearted, and despite their relentless teasing, you couldn’t deny that they had a point. Dean was… distracting, to say the least.

“Okay, fine,” you admitted, setting the binoculars on your desk. “Maybe I looked. A little.”

Bella and Steph exchanged triumphant high-fives.

“But that doesn’t mean anything,” you added quickly. “He’s my bodyguard, not—”

“Not your soulmate? Your future husband? The leading man in your personal rom-com?” Steph finished for you, raising an eyebrow.

Bella laughed. “You’re just in denial. It’s fine, we’ll be here when you’re ready to admit it.”

Before you could respond, a knock at the door drew your attention. All three of you froze, and for a second, you feared that somehow, impossibly, Dean had heard everything.

“Come in,” you called, trying to sound casual.

The door opened, and there he was, standing in the doorway, still shirtless and holding the coiled garden hose in one hand. His eyes scanned the room, landing on you for a moment before flicking to Bella and Steph.

“Just checking in,” he said, his voice low and slightly rough. “Everything okay?”

You nodded, your throat suddenly dry. “Yeah. All good.”

His gaze lingered on you for a beat longer, and you swore his eyes dipped briefly to the curve of your collarbone, exposed by the loose neckline of your blouse. Your skin felt warm under his scrutiny, and you fought the urge to fidget.

“Cool,” he said after a moment, his lips twitching in a faint smirk. “Let me know if you need anything.”

As he turned to leave, Bella and Steph watched him go with unabashed interest. When the door clicked shut behind him, Bella let out a low whistle.

“That man,” she said, “is going to be the death of you.”

You sighed, leaning back in your chair. “Tell me about it.”

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special tags for my boos: @jasvtsc @deanswidow @beausling @titsout4nicholas @figthoughts

@deansbite @cosmicanakin @a1ecmcdowell

𝐈 𝐝𝐨 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐦𝐲 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤 𝐛𝐞𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐜𝐨𝐩𝐢𝐞𝐝/𝐫𝐞𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐝

43 notes · View notes