Supernatural Imagines/One shots

Handsy - Dean

Character - Dean
Type - Dean being protective and then so in loooooovvee (ooh la la)
Word count - 1965

In a small booth smelling faintly of cigarettes and strongly of beer, Dean and Sam give me some final advice.

Don't mention demons. Do flatter him. Don't intimidate him. Do bat your eyelashes. I'm not kidding, Y/N, don't threaten the man.

"I get it, guys. I'm gonna take my position."

"Okay." Dean says, monotone, taking a swig of his beer. He's been off since Sam proposed the idea of using me to get information out of this guy. I mean, I'm fully on board so I don't know what's crawled up his ass. The guy, John something-or-other, is a relatively high profile, disgustingly rich politician who's been hiring demons to do some of his dirty work. You know, getting demons to possess lawyers to get him out of sticky cases, making his competition disappear or back down with the help of the occasional force of evil.

He's slippery, corrupt but also kind of cute. I know, I know, I'm just pointing out a simple fact. Because of stated cuteness, he's known to woo the ladies, and tonight, I'm going to become one of them. 

"Any trouble, give us the signal, okay?" Sam places a reassuring hand on my shoulder and squeezes gently. 

I nod, my eyes fixed on the target. This isn't the hardest hunt I've been on by any means, but it's still a little nerve-wracking to make a good first impression. I take a deep breath and approach the bar. 

I choose a seat two barstools down from the politician - he hasn't noticed me yet, but I'm literally the only female in this bar so (considering his reputation) it shouldn't take long.

As predicted, I feel his eyes on me not even a minute later. I smile to myself. 

 A drink appears in front of me. It smells fruity and dainty.

"From red shirt." the bartender says absentmindedly, jerking a thumb over to John before returning to busily mix up drinks. With a sultry smile, I casually glance over at him and he perks up, motioning to ask if he can sit next to me. With a moment of faux hesitation, I nod, and he comes over.

Man, he's even prettier up close. My age, maybe a little older, with clear skin and black eyelashes that look longer than mine, despite my mascara. Muscles strain against his white shirt and he's almost as tall as Sam but I know who he is, and none of his charm or good looks will fool me. 

"Hey," he says, voice friendly and smoky, "What's a girl like you doing in a place like this?"

I give him a long look, paired with a light-hearted smirk. From a deep dive into his dating history, any long term girlfriends have been dark-haired, intoxicatingly cool and from what I can tell, intelligent. I've got to play my part well, or he'll lose interest and I'll lose my opportunity.

Be cool, Y/N.

Believe it or not, that's not something that comes naturally to me.

"Cheesy line," I remark, taking hold of my drink and sipping before continuing, "But good taste in drinks. Is this what you buy all your girls?"

He smiles, sporting dazzling white teeth, "Maybe, maybe not." he replies vaguely in true political fashion.

I look straight ahead at the bar as to not seem too eager. Be cool. "I must warn you..."

"Yeah, sweetheart?"

Okay, that's icky. 

"That I'm quite selective about the men I pursue."

"I see," his finger toys with the rim of his glass. "What's your name?"

"Polly," I lie, turning my body to face him with a smile. "And you?"