Dean Winchester Aesthetic Novels & Stories

I had tried to fix my hair with a little water from the bathroom sink and had tucked the dirtiest parts of my shirt under my sweater. I wanted to at the very least look like someone worth claiming. Then, the Dean walked in, and the room went dead silent. He wasn't alone. Trailing behind him was the man from the roof. Up close, without the haze of a concussion or the dark of the night, he was almost painful to look at. He was tall, built like a predator, and carried himself with the kind of effortless power that made everyone else in the room look like a background character.

he said in a voice showing very little emotion when the tension in the room reached fever pitch. "No, Mr Hawthorne." Ricardo shook his head, that inane smile still on his lips. "Guns." Clearly fascinated by his confession, Ricardo's eyes widened, curiosity flitting on his face, "Rerig? Guns?" Austin ignored him and said, "I have a whole collection. And do you know why I like them?" Again, another shake of the head from Ricardo, "no, sir." "I like how cold and impersonal they are. They're quite efficient, too; they get the job done fast," Austin informed him. "Knives, on the other hand…Oh yes, I heard you're quite the expert on knives."

"Is Stan in?" "Who are you?" She also ever sizing me up. I wonder if she's afraid of me. "Name is Daniel Winchester." She turns and yells for her husband. "Stan, your guest is here!" Turning back to me, she invites me in. The room I step into is surreal. The warm colors of the wall match perfectly with the carved mahogany furniture. Paintings hang from the wall varying from landscape to life. Pieces of art seem to stand out from every corner of the room. I find myself dreaming of owning a place like this someday. This passion is one thing I really can't do without. Who knows, I can be lucky enough to be loved by a pretty woman too. I quickly stop myself. Stan is dressed in paint stained jea

I said to Dean, patting the small of his lower back, "let's go inside." The look on Dean's face when we stepped inside gave me the most accomplished feeling. He looked like he lit up from the inside and everything he ever needed was in the building. I had been to this particular art gallery once before while I was sightseeing. The entire place was aesthetically pleasing. From the elegant art pieces to the brilliant light fixtures and decorative items which adorned the place. It was truly a sight for sore eyes. I looked to Dean again, "Dean, anyone seeing you right now wouldn't be able to believe that you've been to so many countries in the world."

I hoped it wasn't just me. The heavy wooden door swung open, and Dean strode in. My heart jumped into my throat as I took him in. It was definitely my Dean. He was still tall and lean, with the grace of a hunting cat. His dark hair had a slight smattering of silver, but instead of making him look old, it made him look distinguished. His eyes were exactly how I remembered them, blue pools the color of a winter sky. He stopped for a moment as the door swung shut behind him. His eyes went wide for a moment, his cheeks going pale, but he regained his composure so quickly I wasn't one hundred percent sure I had even seen him hesitate.

I am the ruthless boss of the Southside Syndicate, yet I submitted entirely to their dominance, and I know I can never erase that physical reality. I walk back into the main bedroom area and wrap my arms securely around my chest to protect myself just as the heavy oak door clicks open. The brass handle turns slowly before the door swings wide, and Dean walks into the quiet room carrying a large silver tray. The delicious smell of freshly cooked scrambled eggs, buttered toasted bread, and dark black coffee immediately fills the air. He is wearing a perfectly tailored navy blue suit and his wire-rimmed glasses, and he looks incredibly composed and entirely in control of the situation.

Dean answered as he reached out a hand for her. As she took it, he pulled her to his side circling an arm around her waist and making sure that she was positioned so that she could see the screen with him. He did it so naturally and they fit together as if they had been doing this for a long time. Nadia didn’t feel the need to protest especially with Keith sitting beside them, so she leaned against him and started selecting the ring. Keith was bored moments later and left them to it reaching for the game console. “I think gold rimmed with silver would look good,” Dean said pointing to the model.

she’d said. On Thanksgiving evening, I stood in my bathroom, staring at my reflection. I’d done my makeup soft just mascara, blush, concealer. I tried red lipstick, then decided against it , cleaning it off with some wipes. Too much i thought. I settled on a pink gloss that felt safe. Innocent. At 7:45 PM, Dean’s driver arrived. My stomach churned the entire ride, nerves clawing at my chest like tiny, cruel fingers. Dean greeted me at the door wearing a dark grey sweater and slacks, barefoot, hair tousled just slightly like he’d run his hand through it too many times. He looked calm. Warm.

Of course I do Kaira, I'm not walking out like this," "Grrrrhh!" she groaned going out of the walk-in closet. I peaked through the door and saw Dean take off his shirt. My mouth dropped on the floor when I looked at his extra large muscles that flexed. His chest was perfect with those things called ---- uh yes with an eight pack that was perfectly designed and looked really smooth. How can God give him not only good looks but a body to die for too! He looked drool worthy and eatable to such an extent that I couldn't keep calm.

I was thankful to be avoiding the clash I feared but was fully prepared to engage in to protect her from their reckless plans. "I knew she wasn't going because there was no way Lottie was fitting in the back of Chase's dumb car. The fucker had truly thought that if he got a 1967 Chevy Impala like Dean Winchester from that show he was addicted to, he would attract the ladies like that fictional character did. But honestly, given his size and fat head, he just looked like a pimp on the prowl. "Dick." I scoffed internally, amused at Chase's attempts to emulate his television idol, which only made him appear more ridiculous.