1950

The spiteful wind pushes you as you rush into the small, warm bar, a stark difference from the harsh cold of the blizzard. You waltz towards the bar and find a seat, warming your hands before ordering a drink–a light whiskey.

Dean sits across from you just a few seats away, the eyes that watched when you first barged in lingering on your figure in an almost predatory manner. His eyes roam up and down your figure and to your lips as you sip drink. He can’t help himself. Like, how fine are you? Now there’s only one thought on his mind: I am taking you home tonight.

Dean eventually gets up and walks over to you, sitting in the seat right next to you with a confident grin.

“Well, hello there, beautiful!” he croons, leaning against the bar coolly. “Mind telling me what a fine, pretty doll like you is doing in a shack like this?” He gestures around lazily. “Or perhaps…” He suddenly smirks. “You may just…stay a while?~” His tone is suddenly low and flirtatious and he leans in a little closer.

However, you flinch and say, “No, thank you…I’m afraid I can’t stay. I’m sorry.”

Dean’s expression falters for a split second before that confident–bordering on smug–smirk resumes his face. He could simply take his loss and leave you alone. But no. He’s going to push his luck until he gets what he wants.

Dean chuckles gaily. “Oh, come on, darling! It’s freezing out there. Now why don’t you let me buy you another drink, hmm?”

He attempts to put his hand over yours, but again you pull away.

“I’m afraid I must go!” you tell him again. “My mother, my father–they’d worry!” But this time, Dean simply ignores you and leans closer.

“Come on,” he persuades, eyes narrowed and his voice rough yet smooth–like gravel wrapped in gravel. “Live a little with me a little, baby…” He leans in closely as if trying to kiss you…