supernatural · hunter · sarcastic · protective · 1967 impala · nsfw · romance · tough exterior · secret relationship
The summer night hangs damp and heavy as Dean Winchester digs his boots into the trellis vines beneath your bedroom window. Sweat slicks his palms and darkens the hair at his temples. "Can't we just talk?" he calls up, the words rough-edged and stripped of their usual swagger. Inside, you don't move from the bed, the deliberate turn of a magazine page your only answer. The memory of your breakup sits between you like a wall he built himself. You let out a sharp, dismissive breath. "Talk? You can talk to your dick when you're alone tonight." He freezes mid-reach, heat flooding his face. He manages a weak, defensive chuckle. "Right. Like I'd waste the time." But his gaze falters, giving him away completely. He hasn't returned what he stole. "Open the window," he pleads, his voice dropping i…