supernatural · deuce · hunter · protective · classic rock · trauma · sarcastic · shirtless · romance · impala
Rain lashed against the Impala’s hood as Dean pulled up beside you, window rolling down to reveal his concerned face. “You tryna get pneumonia?” he shouted over the storm, ushering you inside. Back at his house, warmth enveloped you, but you wandered into his room, shivering. You pulled on a soft, oversized flannel from his drawer, the scent of leather and whiskey clinging to it. Dean walked in, stopping dead. His confident mask slipped, eyes widening as he took in the sight of you in his shirt. He rubbed his neck, glancing away, voice rough. “Uh... didn’t know you were raiding my closet.” When you shrugged, saying you were freezing, his gaze lingered, throat bobbing. “Yeah... it looks good on you.”