Dean Winchester Aesthetic Novels & Stories

“You can call me Dean. No, Mr Moretti. That was my late father and grandfather.” He smiled, and it increased his beauty by over a hundred times. He was tall; my guess would be around 6 feet. His hair was identical to his midnight-dark eyes. His refined short hairstyle was just long enough to style with a side part. His perfectly straight nose didn't have any bumps or curves. I never met a man with such a perfect nose. His reddish pink lips were another blow that I was certain most women failed to handle. The lower one was larger than the upper one, maintaining a harmonious ratio. Dean Moretti wasn't only a man with immense power; he was the owner of attractive physical features too. One that

When Aeden woke up the morning of her class with Dean she was calm. She had made her peace with what had happened and had decided to just let him go. She knew it might hurt for a while but like everything else she had lost in her life it would be forgotten. She kept telling herself that she needed to relax and act like nothing had happened, it was the only way she would get through the class. She also kept saying that the first day is always the hardest. So, she got up, got dressed, had her breakfast and grabbed her books. When she got to the garage she stopped and looked at her cars. Aeden owned every Ford Mustang body style there was. Each one was in the original color for its year and all

I was too scared to look around when I first came into the room, so I did not see him sitting there. Dean Blackwolf looks like a supreme king. He sits very straight, and his long arms rest on the sides of the sofa. His chin sits on the back of his hand. He looks very noble and clean. He wears clear glasses with gold rims, and his eyes look straight through me like a hungry wild wolf. He looks like he wants to rip my throat out right now. Three years did not make him old or ugly at all. He looks even more handsome and powerful than before. His face is partly in the dark, but the small lights make him look bright like gold. He just sits there and makes everyone feel small.

“Yeah. Wrecked people, all broken into pieces… they looked like shattered glass. It was fucking amazing. And no pastels anywhere, man. Hot pinks and reds and yellows. Everything she does just screams at you.” “Reena?” Mitch said. “Little blonde thing, looks like she should be wearing a tiara and riding a unicorn over a rainbow?” They laughed. “Yeah, that’s her. But don’t be fooled by appearances, Mitch.” Dean looked him up and down. “So, what do you think? You want to come by this week, give it a try here? See how it works out?” “Absolutely.” Mitch extended his hand. “Thanks, man. I really appreciate the opportunity.”

Chapter Twelve He was putting on a black shirt and black pants, with a long black jacket that made him look more dangerous and as handsome as inhumanly beautiful demons in fictional books. Immediately, Dean dropped the device driver on the table and smiled seeing how he was standing at the fireplace and his appearance looked fearful. He stood there for a moment before he walked to him and asked, "I hope you're not expecting me to run away from my own... house." Dean said as he strained the last two words.

Luc looked perfectly at home here. “Thanks. Deke didn’t help me decorate, in case you were wondering.” He winked. Deke decorating? The very idea made her laugh. Deke would hang gun racks and litter the floor with shell casings. In his eyes, infrared binoculars would be the perfect coffee table conversation piece. TV trays, any old couch, and a bank of security cameras, period. He’d never need anything else for entertainment. “That, I’d believe. You did this?” “With a little help from a friend who’s an interior decorator.”

What exactly would tonight change? As I entered the lounge, my breath caught in my throat. The sight before me was nothing short of breathtaking. Dean, Damian, and Damon were already there, and they looked absolutely stunning. Dean stood by the window, his tall frame silhouetted against the city lights, a glass of wine in his hand. His rugged charm and confidence were as irresistible as ever. Damian and Damon were seated, their profiles exuding an air of quiet intensity. They had chosen simple yet perfectly tailored outfits that accentuated their muscular physiques. It was impossible not to notice the way their shirts clung to their chests, emphasizing every sculpted curve.

"As do you." Dean was dressed in a black suit and a black bow tie. I couldn't help but smile when I noticed he was wearing the suit jacket I told him I preferred and it hugged his body in such a way that easily said that it was tailor-made for him. He looked muscular and his hair was a hot mess on his head. I know I said that Dean was like a brother to me, but why did said brother have to be smoking hot?! "Enough with the googly eyes. Let's go!" Chris rolled his eyes.

a deep, elegantly cultured voice says from within. Pushing the door open, I step inside. The office is impressive. Vast. The large, imposing desk at the far end, positioned beneath an expansive window offers a breathtaking view of the city skyline, and behind it, Mr. Winchester sits and if I had been an artist, I'd capture this moment--the sun catching in his dark hair, his head propped on his fist as stares lazily at his screen, his shirt slightly undone, revealing hints of curly hair on his chest. To the left of his desk stood another, albeit smaller, desk with stacks of paper and neatly organized folders. My desk. Yay?

I stepped into the lion's den, and I couldn't ignore the electric tingle of anticipation beneath my skin. "Ah, Aaron, come in, please!" The dean's voice was a warm, enveloping blanket, almost too perfect in its friendliness. His handshake was firm, his eyes crinkling at the edges as he smiled. "Your contribution to the art gallery has been nothing short of marvelous." "Thank you, Dean." My words were crisp, measured, though my senses remained alert. I felt the undercurrents in this room, the sleek veneer of collegiate success masking something darker, more primal.