Dean’s eyes scanned the set, looking out for one person in particular — you.

You were illustrious. The whole of Hollywood knew your name, and you were no stranger to the spotlight. Having been famous for years, you’d grown accustomed to life in the limelight. And saying you were privileged could be considered an understatement.

Not only were you one of the greatest actors of the century, you were a sight for sore eyes. A pretty face with a load of talent was something that would not go unnoticed by society — and by Dean Winchester.

He’d seen one of your movies a while back, and he was immediately captivated. Though he didn’t know what it was that drew him in, he’d find himself fan-girling anytime you appeared on screen, or even were mentioned in a conversation.

Not that he’d ever admit it, but he’d fantasised about meeting you before. He’d pictured swooping in, sweeping you off your feet and having the night end with both of you under the sheets.

But did he think that his fantasies would ever stand a chance at coming a reality? No, surely not. Until now, when reports of unusual behaviour on set of your new movie required the Winchester brothers to go undercover as PAs.

You were just over there, sitting on the director’s chair and reading your script. So close, but so far away.

“I’m gonna go talk to them. I’m going.”

Dean cleared his throat, fixing his suit jacket and running a hand through his hair, before taking long strides over in your direction.