Dean Winchester is living his best life. Content and thriving as a private chef in the Hampton’s for a prestigious couple, Chuck and Naomi Novak, and their son Michael. Asked back for his fourth summer in a row, Dean’s more than ready to tackle his daily to-do lists to keep his kitchen stocked and his meals fresh. With a paycheck good enough to cover Sam’s tuition and room and board included, Dean thinks he’s got it made, another easy summer doing what he loves best, cooking.
Until the Novak’s youngest son Castiel shows up and turns everything upside down. Sure, Dean has no trouble navigating a kitchen, but when it comes to a carefree, handsome wild card and matters of the heart, he may lose all sense of direction.
Keep reading for a sneak preview!
“Thank you, Dean,” Cas says, softly, surprised but looking at Dean in a way that feels dangerous.
He turns away to clean the dishes. The timer for his mac and cheese interrupts any thoughts Dean might have been having, thank fuck. He’s gotta focus. Taking the almost-done dish out of the oven, Dean moves it to the warming rack and makes an executive decision.
“Right. So, this ain’t an episode of Bake Off, ya feel me?”
Cas tilts his head, his mouth full of lobster roll.
“I’m not putting on a show here, I’m working. It’s my job to feed you, but if you’re gonna hang around, you’re gonna have to help out.” It would save Dean a boatload of time if Cas cut up his vegetables for him. “You can handle chopping some veggies, right?”
If Dean lets Cas use his knives, no one needs to know that.
“Don’t cut your finger off, your mom will fire me,” is all the warning Dean heeds once he gets Cas set up with a cutting board and all the vegetables he needs cut up so he can start roasting them. There’s also a bunch of shit that needs to get cut up for the salad he’s making, so Cas has plenty to do if he manages not to slice anything off with Dean’s incredibly sharp knives.
After the biggest meeting of her career, Y/N went for a drink and met him. Dean Winchester, the handsome bartender at The Shop, who managed to say all of the right things to soften her hard shell. Was it possible that Y/N was wrong all of this time? Had she spent the better part of 2 decades focusing on her career when there was one man in a city of 18 million that could make her feel more alive than any job ever could? Will she be able to slow down long enough to let herself fall in love with a man that was never a part of the plan? After years of holding her breath, will she finally let herself breathe again?
This story is written for my beautiful and talented friend and beta @dean-winchesters-bacon, thanks for always inspiring me and supporting my whims. Love you always.
Banner by the talented @talesmaniac89
Chapter Nine
Dean
When Dean found out his dad was having another son he was furious. It felt like a replacement. John Winchester had already left Mary and Dean alone and found another woman to create a life with, and now Dean was being replaced, too. A new wife, a new apartment, a new son, a new life. A new life without Dean. He imagined what his little brother would be like, and all he could see at the time was a nightmare creature with sharp teeth that’s entire goal was to rip apart his family.
He wouldn’t participate in the baby shower, he didn’t care to help pick out a name, and since Mary's feelings were hurt so were Dean’s. She tried to hide it, of course, but he heard her crying at night.
It wasn’t until his dad took him to the hospital to meet Sammy that his demeanor changed completely. The squishy, pink skinned baby looked up at him with squinty eyes. He’d been screaming a moment before, but when he locked eyes with Dean he made a cooing noise and reached out a tiny, dimpled hand. There were no teeth, just gums and little purple lips that opened and closed as if he wanted to say something. Dean's heart melted as Sammy’s tiny fist wrapped around his finger, squeezing with Thor's strength.
He was a big brother, and Dean knew the moment Sam looked up at him with sleepy eyes that he would protect him until his last breath.
Thirty some years later he stared at that same kid affectionately on the roof of his law firm in downtown New York City.
“I’ll give you this, Dean, you are a hell of a cook,” Sam said, chewing.
“Glad I can impress.”
“It's a long way from Winchester Surprise.”
“Hey! You liked macaroni and cheese with marshmallows. I never once heard you complain,” Dean said dismissively.
Sam shrugged and smiled softly. “You did your best with what you had.”
“I tried.” Dean looked out to the city. It was getting cooler as autumn crept into view. “How’re things going, Sammy?” he asked, his eyes flickering back to his brother. “You got an asshole for a partner on this case? He leavin’ you to do all the work?”
“I’m not sure what’s going on with her,” Sam said pointedly.
Dean nodded knowingly. “Sorry for assuming. Is she an asshole, then?” He grinned widely at his brother.
“No. She’s…” Sam sighed and Dean's eyebrows shot up in response. Furrowed brows, sad lips, and pinching the bridge of his nose. He knew that damn look.
“You like her.”
“What?”
“I’ve seen that look before, Sam. The only time you get this bent out of shape is when you’re in deep.”
“I’m not…” Sam began, but when he locked eyes with his brother, his resolve dissipated. His face fell into his hands and he let out an exacerbated groan. “I am in deep. I’m in love with her, Dean, and I really don’t know what to do about it.”
Looking at his brother made Dean soften significantly. “Ah, man. Have you told her? You should probably tell her how you feel.”
“She doesn’t want to hear it.”
“Sure she does! You’re a goddamn catch!”
“I don’t know, Dean. It’s always been so physical with her. She’s so… focused on anything else but us. Plus, she’s pissed at me.”
“What did you do? Can you fix it?”
Sam shrugged half-heartedly. “I… I’m trying to fix it. She’s mad that I was chosen as primary on this case. They picked me over her, and I insisted that she should work with me on it. Isn’t that worth something?”
Dean thought about Y/N then, and her devastation over losing her own role in her job to a man. Normally, Dean would’ve been completely on his brother's side, but after meeting her his perspective had changed significantly. “Have you considered her side of things? I don’t know, man, sometimes I don’t think we realize how easy we’ve got it. Not that your job is easy… I just mean that our gender doesn’t make it harder.”
“I guess,” Sam said, squirming in his seat a bit. “I work really hard, and I hate that she discounts it. I also see why she’s pissed, though. It’s so complicated.” He groaned and ran his fingers through his hair.
His baby brother was going through something, but if Dean learned anything from Y/N it’s that this is worth learning. “Be honest with her, consider her feelings and think about the fact that she has to work twice as hard to be considered in a room that you and I can just walk into. The world isn’t fair, Sammy. I know that much at least.”
“Where is this all coming from?”
He could feel his cheeks heat. “I may have met someone, too.”
“Oh?”
“Don’t look at me like that,” Dean said dismissively.
“Like what?” Sam asked, feigning innocence.
“Like you’re expecting me to start braiding your hair and gossiping about a crush.”
“You’re blushing, Dean. I’ve never seen you like that, not even with Lisa. I’m just saying… I’m happy for you. Whoever she is, I hope she makes you happy. I hope she isn’t as complicated as what I’m going through. You deserve a happy ending, man.”
“It hasn’t been long enough to even begin to think about an ending, happy or otherwise.” But he secretly hoped she was his happy ending, too.
“You should tell her how you feel, too,” Sam said, nodding to his brother. “You do it, and I will, too.”
“It always has to be a competition with you,” Dean said, raising an eyebrow.
“Some things never change.” He grinned widely.
“Fine. I’ll tell her.” He would’ve told her anyway. It was never a secret.
Her
Y/N walked around New York. She had a lot to think about, and it was taking over her mind; she was drowning in it all. The idea of quitting, leaving it all behind had crawled into her mind and made a home there. It burrowed in deeply and dug its claws in. She couldn’t shake the feeling that she had to make a change. When she walked Lisa back to her studio she saw all of the women gearing up for their yoga class. The image now lived in her mind rent free.
She watched them, knowing who they were, but not daring to make any assumptions. They were survivors. Each one of them had survived some kind of violence, an attack by someone they didn’t know and sometimes, someone they knew far too well. Y/N knew from her women’s study classes in college that one in four women were assaulted in their lifetime and despite the fact that less than two percent of reports are false, only six in approximately one-thousand rapes resulted in incarceration. When she heard the numbers for the first time she wrote them down in her notebook and taped the page to her dorm room wall. She wouldn’t end up one of those numbers, and she didn’t. Her friends did, though - more than one.
Watching the women stretch and laugh and heal in front of her, everything clicked together. That's what she wanted to do. She wanted to help the women who were hurt. She wanted to be a shining light in the darkness because anyone who wanted to share their story deserved to do so without being terrified. It would be hard, but she could do it. She knew she could.
She couldn’t wait to tell Dean all about it.
Y/N rushed home to change her clothes before she went to find him. It was late in the day now, so he was either leaving work or headed there. She assumed that she didn’t have a lot of time to change clothes and get her head wrapped around her decision. She was so in her thoughts that she almost ran over the man sitting on her stoop.
“Oh my gosh I’m so…” Her voice caught in her throat as a pair of green eyes flickered up to her under full eyelashes.
Dean.
She must’ve exhaled out his name because he grinned widely up at her, his eyes crinkling at the edges. “Y/N,” he said, her name was rough and quiet on his lips, and she felt her knees weaken.
“I was just coming to see you,” she admitted.
“You’re going the wrong way.”
She rolled her eyes. God, he was annoying. God, he was beautiful.
“I was going to change first.” She lifted her arms and gestured to her abnormally lax outfit.
“Why?” he asked, standing up. Since he was on a step above her he looked even taller than normal, and she honestly hadn’t thought that was possible. “You look great the way you are.”
“I’m…” She almost said she wasn’t comfortable like this, but that wasn’t true. She was comfortable, but the idea of comfort in fashion had been ripped from her bleeding fingers at such a young age she’d never even considered that the two words could live together in harmony. “Thank you.”
“Why were you looking for me?” His finger brushed a hair behind her ear, sending chills up her neck.
“I wanted to tell you something.”
Dean’s thumb moved from her earlobe down her jaw. “Mmm. What’s that?”
They were unintentionally scooting closer, and she hadn't realized it until their chests brushed. “I…” Her head was spinning. She couldn't focus with him that close to her. He smelled like he’d been cooking, and it made her want to curl in even closer to him. He was intoxicating.
“You…” He prompted with a wry grin.
Focus, Y/N. “I’m going to quit my job.” The words spilled out of her lips quickly and unplanned.
“You’re going to… what?” He moved to back away from her, his pupils wide in shock.
She stopped him by resting her hands on his hips. “I’m not being impulsive,” she promised. “I’m not an impulsive person. I just… I’m not happy. This isn’t what I want.” Her eyes stung as she thought about all she’d worked for. She climbed and crawled her way up, and she hated every second of it.
His expression softened, and his thumb traced her bottom lip. “What’re you going to do then?”
“I think I’m going to start a nonprofit practice to help survivors of sexual assault and domestic violence. Survivors don’t always want to come forward, but I think if there are lawyers who focus on that side of the law that maybe they’ll feel more comfortable. I just… I want to make a difference. I don’t want to give up on my dreams, but what I’ve been doing isn’t my dream.”
She didn’t realize she hadn’t been looking at him until her eyes flickered up. He was grinning widely, his white teeth shining down at her. “That suits you.”
“How would you know?” She asked, sarcasm weak in her voice. It did suit her, after all.
“Because I’m always right. It’ll be way easier for you if you learn that now.”
“Oh?”
He nodded quickly. “Yup.”
“So, why are you on my steps, Dean?”
“Oh, are these your steps?” he asked, feigning sheepish confusion.
Y/N met him with an unimpressed glare, and he laughed in response.
“I’m here for this,” he whispered huskily before pulling her chin up to his and pressing a hot, urgent kiss on her lips. “I’m proud of you,” he breathed the words into her mouth, pushing life back into her.
She didn’t need him to be proud of her, because she was proud of herself. She threw her arms around his shoulders and stood on her tiptoes to ease the bend of his neck and kissed him back feverishly. She murmured his name into the kiss, and his arms tightened around her.
The world around them melted away in an instant. He came to kiss her, and he was the first person that she wanted to tell about her decision. There was something happening between them, something far beyond their control, something cosmic. His hands traveled down her back and deepened the kiss, his tongue running along her bottom lip.
A whine escaped her lips, one that would normally embarrass her endlessly, but in that moment she couldn’t care less. She opened her mouth to taste him and god he tasted amazing. His tongue was warm and soft, and she pressed fully flush against him. She wanted to be as close to him as humanly possible.
He groaned into her mouth and cupped her ass in his hands, squeezing it gently. Her skin prickled under her leggings under his touch, the space between her legs throbbing with want. She nipped at his bottom lip, causing him to squeeze her tighter, more insistently.
The sky rumbled with a new round of thunder, but they ignored it.
“Get a room!” Someone shouted at them as they walked by, causing them to pull apart briefly, laughing to each other breathlessly.
“Sorry,” Dean grunted, waving at the passerby apologetically. His freckled cheeks were flushed and his lips were swollen. She grinned at the sight.
“I have a room,” she said quickly.
His eyebrows shot up, and his lips tugged into a grin. “Lead the way.”
She pushed past him, but he kept his hands on her possessively as she fiddled with the keys. He leaned down and pressed his lips to the back of her neck. “Dean,” she warned. “I can’t focus with you doing that.”
“Doing what?” he asked innocently, his voice rumbling against her. He nipped at her skin tenderly and she groaned, feebly attempting to wiggle out of his grip.
The lock clicked, and she swung the door open immediately. They needed to get upstairs now. The door shut behind them, and Dean pulled her back into his arms, spinning her and planting a needy kiss on her mouth. His mouth was hot and urgent. She sighed against him and melted within his arms. She wasn’t strong enough to resist him, to resist this. Plus, she’d decided to keep doing the things that made her happy, and this made her the happiest she’d felt in awhile.
He toyed with the bottom of her sweatshirt with deft fingers, making her stomach flip. His hands slid up the back of the sweatshirt, his fingers trailing her spine before settling between her shoulder blades. A small gasp escaped his lips, and she felt him smile into the kiss. Before she even had a chance to question the exchange, she remembered that she wasn’t wearing a bra.
She tugged him toward the elevator, blindly feeling for the button to take them up to her floor before she was topless in the lobby. The elevator dinged, and the sound rang like a bell in her mind, bouncing off of her skull. She placed her hands on his chest and walked them backwards into the open elevator. “Dean…” She said his name weakly before peeling them apart long enough to turn and press the button to her floor.
Instead of releasing her, he moved one hand to the front of her, running his calluses over the soft skin of her breast. Her nipple perked up immediately, and she whimpered. If someone had told her three months prior that a man would make her whimper she would’ve laughed in their faces, but there she was, making whiny, weak noises. She came completely undone as his fingers tweaked her already-hard nipple. He spun her around and pressed her back to the wall with a low growl, reaching with a free hand for the big, red emergency stop button to halt the elevator.
Dean’s hands were back on her in a second, working her sweatshirt over her head and tossing it away. He looked at her hungrily, his bottom lip trembled. “Fuck,” he mumbled.
“What?” she asked breathlessly, suddenly nervous under his gaze.
“You’re so fucking beautiful.” His mouth was back on hers before she could consider objecting. He kissed her lips, her jaw, down her neck, between her breasts, and took her nipple between his lips, sucking eagerly. Her back arched automatically in response. She closed her eyes, completely taken over by the heat of his mouth on her, and his tongue flicking against the sensitive skin.
His eyes flickered open, and he looked up at her through his eyelashes, her breast still in his mouth. She thought she was going to pass out from the sight of his eyes heavy with desire, staring up at her. She wanted to pull his mouth back up to her, but when she tugged at his shoulders he released her and grinned. He flicked his tongue against her nipple again eliciting a groan from her, and trailed his tongue between her breast and down her stomach, leaving tantalizing kisses along the exposed skin at the waistband of her leggings.
Y/N looked down at him with wide eyes. He wouldn’t, not in the public elevator. Regardless of whether or not it was stopped and no one could come in, he surprised her again by curling his fingers around the waist of her leggings and kissing the newly bare skin as he rolled them down her hips, exposing her thong.
Oh god, I’m in trouble.
Her face was hot as she stood before him practically naked, and he looked at her hungrily. “Dean,” she said his name again weakly, and he looked up at her. The sight of him kneeling in front of her was almost too much to handle.
“This okay?”
Is it?
In reality, she didn’t see why not. There wasn’t a camera in the elevator of the old building, she knew that much. She wanted his mouth on her so badly that she could barely think. Why would she say no?
He pressed a gentle kiss to her hip bone. “I need you to say yes to keep going. I’m not going to ravish you in an elevator without hearing the word come out of your lips, sweetheart.”
Ravish you.
Oh god, she was going to pass out.
She nodded quickly, giving in to her desires for once in her goddamned life.
“I need to hear it,” he said with a quiet growl. “Say the word, and I’m at your mercy.”
“Yes, damn it!” She heard herself say, her voice strained with desire, a wetness pooling between her legs that would normally embarrass her.
“Thank fucking god,” he purred before placing a hot kiss right at her core through the lace, and her knees immediately went weak. She had no idea how she was going to keep herself upright, so she grabbed blindly for the handrails.
Author’s Note: Part two of an AU that I thought of more than a year ago. Time to get finally get it out. Fills my Tattoos square for @spnkinkbingo
Summary: Dean Winchester is counting on Y/F/N Y/L/N’s review to get his struggling restaurant up on its feet. It doesn’t help that Lawrence’s resident playboy has a forgotten history with the food critic.
Pairing(s): Chef!Dean x Food Critic!Reader
Word Count: 2578
Warnings: Fluff!, food, tattoos, 18+! HERE BE SEX!! DON’T READ IF YOU’RE A YOUNG’UN!!! oral sex (fem rec), protected sex
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
When Y/n pulled into the restaurant two weeks later, the parking lot was packed. It was a side effect of a glowing critique in the paper. She hadn’t even mentioned that the skate was a little overcooked. She was glad she’d called in the reservation because there was no way she’d get in if she hadn’t reserved a seat. She’d dressed up this time, a black dress and strappy heels with makeup done to perfection. She had only brought a pocketbook this time, no notebook or purse to hide it in. She smiled brightly at the hostess. “I have a reservation at eight.”
“Name?” she asked.
“Y/n!” Dean smiled as he looked out the kitchen window at you. “Claire, bring her to the chef’s table!” The young hostess didn’t pick up a menu as she guided you to the kitchen where Dean was waiting, that wide smile on his face. “Welcome to my home away from home, Y/n; 67’s kitchen. This is my sous chef, Jack Kline. He does most of the work, don’t let him deny it.”
“Who am I to disagree with my chef, Chef?” The young man smiled at her. “Hear you’re the reason my job got so much busier.”
“I can write a retraction if you think it’s too much for you,” Y/n responded with a smile.
“Don’t you dare,” Dean said with mock seriousness. “Just sit your gorgeous self down and I’ll get working on your app. You good with pork? ‘Cause I was gonna start you with this pork and apple crostini I do.”
“That wasn’t on the menu two weeks ago.” Y/n sat at the chef’s table and he smiled at her.
“Notice ya weren’t given one. I’m gonna take that look of intrigue as a ‘yes’ on the crostini.”
Y/n watched with rapt attention as Dean ran the line, simultaneously cooking and directing his people, commanding respect with a smile on his face. Not a single person neglected to respond ‘yes, chef’ when he spoke.
Every once in a while, he’d present her a plate and wink before heading back to the line. When the kitchen closed, there was still a pot on a burner under low heat. He cut his staff early, promising to do the cleaning himself. The Back of House employees were not subtle with their smirks as they pulled their aprons off and walked out of the kitchen.
“You know, if you count my food blog, I have been a critic for eight years and this is the first time I’ve been invited to a chef’s table,” Y/n said, smiling.
“That’s ‘cause you make your reservations under superhero secret identities and don’t tell people you’re coming,” Dean responded.
Y/n laughed. “You caught the Captain Marvel thing, huh?”
“Yeah, I caught it.” He reached down and clicked off the burner under his pot and walked over to sit at the table with her.
“So...where’d you go to culinary school?” Y/n asked, fiddling with the hem of her dress.
“Didn’t.”
Y/n’s eyes widened. “You’re self taught?”
“Well, Alton Brown and Nigella Lawson taught me the basics, but the rest I figured out myself.” He chuckled. “‘Course I did have some help with 67’s menu. My little brother Sam, he went to college for Nutrition and he came in behind me to tweak all my recipes to make them as ‘nutritionally dense’ as possible.”
“So, if you didn’t go to school and Bistro 67’s only been open for four months, what were you doing before? You know, the whole fifteen years after school,” Y/n asked.
“I was a mechanic,” Dean said. He laughed and nodded. “Yeah, over at Busy’s Body Shop. I was a key-holder over there for...six or seven years...I mean, don’t get me wrong, I like fixing cars and I am damned good at it, but...I love cooking. Taking disparate ingredients and turning them into something delicious and beautiful? It’s like art.”
She smiled at him. “Well, I’m glad you decided to pursue your art, Winchester. I doubt we’d’ve reconnected if you were still at the body shop.”
“You’ve got such a beautiful smile.” He bit his lip and leaned forward. “I’d really like to know how it tastes.”
“Like lipstick,” she responded, but she leaned forward, too. “Not the most appetizing taste, if you ask me.” She gasped as his breath warmed her lips.
“Well, you’re the expert,” he whispered, his tongue just barely licking across his lips before he pushed forward a little more, pressing his lips against hers. His hands grasped the edge of her chair and the legs screeched along the floor as he pulled her closer, both of them opening their mouths to roll their tongues against each other.
"Dean, the front's a hundred percent. I'm gonna lock up so you'll have to go out the- oh! Shit! Sorry!" Y/n and Dean pulled away from each other as Castiel entered the kitchen.
Dean chuckled, gesturing at the blue-eyed brunette. "Y/n, I'm sure you remember Cas, my best friend and anti-wing man."
"Wouldn't an anti-wing man be a cock blocker?" Cas mused as he offered his hand. Y/n took it with her right hand as the fingers of her left slid under her bottom lip to deal with the mess kissing had made of her lipstick.
"I think you've just got bad timing, Cas," Y/n said. "I think blocking is an intentional thing."
"Yeah. Sorry, though,” Castiel said with an apologetic smile. “Uh, I'm gonna head out, Dean. I'm gonna lock up-"
"So, we have to go out the back door. I heard you the first time, Cas." Dean shook his head.
"Okay, uh...remember, we don't need any health code violations." Castiel smiled and walked away.
Dean followed his friend with his eyes until the man disappeared from his view. "I think he thinks I'm gonna try to fuck you in the kitchen. How cliche."
"And you've got a problem being so trite?" Y/n asked, a smirk tugging at her lips.
"No, I just didn't think you'd go for it,” he said with a smirk.
"Well, this is your home away from home, isn't it? And you did promise me a dessert."
"Oh, I've got dessert," he said, standing. When he walked back, he was holding the plate above her eyesight. "Another item not on the menu. Sam would kill me if I tried to feed his childhood favorite to customers. His recipe, my genius flavors and skills." Dean lowered the plate to the table.
Her jaw dropped open. "Marshmallow nachos? Your brother, the nutritionist, came up with a recipe for marshmallow nachos?"
"Yeah. He was a kid, used the fluff out of the jar and crushed up candy bars, but it was delicious, so..." He gestured at the plate. "I made it worthy of a food critic."
She smiled as she picked up a marshmallow and candy covered chip and took a bite. It was amazing. Sweet from the toppings, savory from the chips. Sticky and melty and amazing. Y/n moaned, a little louder than she intended, and he bit his lip as he swiped a bit of marshmallow off of the plate and raised his finger to her lips. She opened her mouth obediently and ran her tongue across the tip of the intruding digit. He groaned as she closed her lips around his finger and sucked hard, letting her teeth gently scrape the sugar from his skin.
"Fuck," he groaned out, pulling his hand away and adjusting himself in his loose black chef pants. "Standing at full attention already," he said under his breath.
Y/n smirked as she stood. "Hmm, well, what can we do about that, Chef? I mean, assuming you aren't going to search out Marcy Williamson this time."
"Have I showed you my office, yet, Y/n?" he asked, picking up the plate with his left hand and taking her hand with his right. "I think you'll like to finish your dessert there."
She followed him out of the kitchen, down the hall and through a plain wooden door. It was clear he didn’t spend a lot of time in there from the completely bland aesthetic of it. The only part without a completely unlived-in vibe was the couch, which he’d obviously slept on many times before.
He placed the plate on his desk and pulled on his chef’s jacket, buttons snapping open in a rapid succession of pops. He tossed the jacket at a hook on the back of the door. It missed and slid to the floor but he either didn’t notice or didn’t care because he just moved on to the plain black t-shirt he wore under it.
She gawked at him a little as the black cotton joined the white jacket by the door and his skin was revealed to her. He had the small phoenix tattoo on his neck, which she’d seen peeking out of his jacket, but his chest was covered in symbols like she’d never seen, running along his entire rib cage. “Enochian glyphs,” he explained, looking down. “It’s angel writing. They protect me.”
“Wow.” She laughed. “Those are...a bit much.”
“You got any ink?” he asked, closing the distance between them.
She shook her head. “I am not a fan of pain.”
“That’s okay. We’ll get you a bitchin’ temp tat...like a unicorn or somethin’,” he said, smirking as his fingers ran across her cleavage. “Right here on your chest.”
“What, I’m not good enough for you if I don’t have a tattoo?” Y/n teased.
“Just think that you’d look damn sexy wearing ink and not a damn thing else.”
“How ‘bout just nothing?” Y/n said, reaching behind her to unzip her dress. It slid down her body to become a puddle of fabric over her heels.
Dean’s eyes slipped down her body and he licked his bottom lip in between his teeth and bit down on it. “Can you keep the heels on?” he asked. She nodded. “Awesome.” He wrapped his arms around her and leaned down to crash his lips into hers.
He grabbed her hips and pulled her body against his as they kissed, her hands sliding across his chest and down to the waistband of his chef pants. He started walking her backwards as they kissed, pushing her to lay on the couch. “Jesus. Look at you.” He hummed happily and licked his lips. “You wanna take that bra off?”
She chuckled and looked up at him from the sofa. “You’ve still got pants on. You’ll have me at a disadvantage if I keep undressing.”
Dean laughed lightly. “Yeah, but all I got is pants on. One item. You’ve got two.”
“Quantity versus quality, Winchester. Those pants cover a lot more skin than this Victoria’s Secret set.”
He clicked his tongue and nodded. “How ‘bout...I take off these pants, you take off those panties, and then we’ll be showin’ the same amount of skin?”
She smirked as she reached behind her back and unclipped the bra, slipping it down her arms and dropping it to the floor beside her. She hooked her fingers in the waistband of her panties and gave him a pointed look. “Your turn.”
“Yes it is.” He pulled his pants down quickly, kicking them off. He smiled as he wrapped his hand around his cock. She giggled and whipped her panties off. Dean dropped to the floor as her underwear did, placing himself with his shoulders between her knees. He kissed up her inner thigh, digging his fingertips into her skin as he moved. Her hands came down to bury in his hair, her jaw dropped and her eyes closed. When his exploring mouth found her cunt, she gasped loudly. Dean slipped his tongue between her folds and licked happily at her clit, making her twitch and moan.
“Oh, fuck,” she whined, twisting her hand in his hair. “You are so good at that.”
He leaned back, licking his lips as he smiled. “Honey, I haven’t even started yet.” He shuffled forward a bit and pulled open a drawer on his desk, grabbing a foil packet and ripping it open with his teeth. He rolled the latex up his length and climbed onto the couch, laying his body over hers and kissing her passionately as he reached down and lined his cock up with her entrance. She gasped and grabbed his shoulders as he slipped into her, her wetness and the lubrication from the condom allowing him to slip into her easily despite his size.
“Oh, my god!”
“You’re so fuckin’ tight,” he groaned as he started to roll his hips, thrusting slightly until she adjusted to him.
Y/n hooked her feet together at the small of his back, not caring if the heels dug in, her right hand grabbing the back of the sofa as she started meeting his thrusts. “God, Dean, fuck.”
“You feel so fuckin’ good around my cock,” he whispered, licking at the column of her throat. “Fuck, if I got you in high school, you woulda ruined me for anyone else.”
“Aren’t, oh!” She gasped as one of his thrusts hit just right. “Aren’t you supposed to ruin me for other men?”
“If you want,” he responded, chuckling as he picked up his speed.
Her moans filled the office, her eyes rolling back and her breath coming short. A litany of cursing fell from her mouth as he fucked her closer to orgasm. “Please, please, please.”
“You beg so pretty,” he said, nibbling on her shoulder. “I wanna do so many dirty things to you.” He kissed up her neck, groaning when she clenched around him. “Fuck, next time. Next time, gonna bend you over and fuckin’ destroy your pussy.” She clenched again at his words and he moaned, reaching between them and rubbing his fingertips over her clit.
He watched her face as her orgasm washed over her, her body going stiff and her back arching off of the sofa. “Shit, that’s hot,” he said, quietly before picking up his pace again and quickly finding his own end. He pulled out, breathing hard as he slipped the condom off. “Damn. Where the hell have you been the last fifteen years of my life?”
“The other side of town,” she answered, sitting up and pushing her hair out of her face.
Dean chuckled. “So... did you enjoy your meal? Be brutal in your critique, the chef can take it.”
Y/n laughed and leaned forward to press her lips to his. “Well, I have some notes,” she teased, bumping her nose against his.
“Oh, do you?”
“Yeah. I can go over them with you...breakfast? My place?” she offered.
“You better have bacon if you’re offerin’ me breakfast,” he said, reaching down to grab his pants from the floor.
“Of course I have bacon. Who do you think I am?” she sassed, starting to dress, as well.
“Woman of my dreams,” Dean muttered under his breath. He turned and smiled at her as she stood and zipped her dress. “Think Jack’ll be pissed if I leave the cleaning?”
“Does it matter? He works for you, doesn’t he?” She kissed his cheek and grabbed a chip off of the plate. “Better hot, but still yummy. Let’s go, Chef.”
Dean nodded and grabbed his shirt. “Let’s go, Y/n.”
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the
Organization for Transformative Works
Tags:
Castiel/Dean Winchester, Mature, 2238 Words, Sex Worker AU, Sex Worker Castiel, Chef Dean Winchester, Angst, Hurt/Comfort.
Summary:
Hey, baby. Wanna spend the night with an angel?
No such thing, Dean had tried. But it had come out as a question, a challenge. An almost Prove me wrong... please? And with a smile which he couldn't have helped if he'd tried.
The man—dressed in a long coat, black boots and tight jeans; dark kohl around blue eyes and an eight o'clock shadow Dean instantly craved to leave a tingle on his inside thighs—had smiled back and said, That's your problem, beautiful. You have no faith.
By the time Dean had left the No-Tell room later that night—left Jimmy, as he'd called himself back then—Dean was born again. His belief was now so strong, he'd gone back to his apartment and goddammit he'd prayed.
OR
Hurt/Comfort Modern Sex Worker AU where maybe fate and free will can exist side by side...
So I was watching a cooking show and remembered that Dean Winchester was an awesome cook and now I’m craving an au fic where Dean is the reader’s personal chef and the reader is like a celebrity or something.
Cas is a master chef at a fancy restaurant, and has no time for personal attachments. After his brother Jimmy and Jimmy’s wife die, Cas becomes the guardian of his neice Claire.
In addition to adjusting to being the sole guardian of his young niece, Cas has to deal with his new sous chef Dean who is making Cas’ once serious kitchen his own- singing and trying to get Cas to loosen up. Enemies to lovers.
