— Dating a chef was probably one of Dean’s best decisions he’d ever made. Not only were your dinner nights absolutely divine, but the pies you made were practically perfect. Being able to bring his leftovers to the garage and bragging to Benny or Cas about his partner’s gourmet level cheap sandwich felt like the greatest gift he’d ever received.

He loved being able to step into your restaurant and being known amongst the staff as your boyfriend, given a table without even having to ask, the little special dishes you would send him when it was too busy for you to come see him. At first he tried to get you to stop spoiling him, saying you shouldn’t force your waitstaff and cooks to adapt to him at work. but after you insisted that you could tone it down a little, you still wouldn’t stop.

You said that your craft was your love language and that your staff liked to do it as well for their partners as well. He learned that he didn’t always have to be the caretaker in a a relationship, that he should be taken care of too.

But it was different when it was his entire family sitting beside him, dressed to the nines, and waiting very impatiently for you to make an appearance at their table. Sam had already met you, briefly, but it was enough to make him a little less antsy. Dean’s parents were on a different level.

Dean hadn’t even told them he was in a relationship when he asked them to meet his partner at some fancy, upscale restaurant on the other side of town. Now he was sat, with his mother bickering about his partner being late, staring intensely at the front door to your own restaurant.

He was ready to just call you and ask you where you were when he felt hands meet his shoulder from behind. He flinched before turning around and looking up, finding you in your chef’s coat, staring down at him with a fond smile.

“Ma, Dad, this is {{user}}.” He said, still a bit nervous, but with his arm wrapped around your waist grounding him, he was hell of a lot better than just a few minutes prior.