#chevroletdean writes

[chevroletdean]

leather jacket and pumpkin spice latte ── ✮⋆˙☕🎃

pairing: dean x (gender neutral) reader genre: fluff warnings: slightly suggestive but nothing explicit word count: 1.6k

a/n: i've also published this little drabble on ao3. i’m just craving fall weather and the halloween mood.

He had to do a double take.

Dean had not gotten much sleep tonight – hence the decision to slip out of the motel room and grab coffee to go so early in the morning –, so who really knew, if he wasn’t still dreaming? The sight before him sure could have been straight out of his imagination.

Actually, he was sure he had a dream just similar to this before. Some time ago. Or maybe not too long ago. Kinda hard to tell with how often you haunted the three to four hours of shut-eye he was able to catch each night.

When he had left, you were curled up in your blanket, looking like a little burrito wrap. He could barely see your face, a tuft of hair sticking out the only indication of your presence. He figured you were fast asleep and since there was a coffee shop just around the corner, it shouldn’t take too long for him to get back; and it didn’t. Except in the twenty minutes he’d been gone, you had already gotten out of bed, having exchanged the blanket for something else to wrap yourself into.

Not even the soft creaking of the old door to your shared motel room was enough to startle you. Dean’s eyes scanned you up and down, admiring the look of his leather jacket on you. The material hung loosely around your frame, several sizes too big on you. Hell, it was too big on him, but it seemed to swallow you whole, practically dwarfing you.

The leather was loosely crinkled at the joints of your elbows, as if you had attempted to roll up the sleeves a little, but soft, hugging your frame as you rummaged through the kitchenette‘s cabinets.

“Not even any damn tea here,” you sighed to yourself, bottom lip jutting out into a grumpy pout. Your mission to get at least somewhat warm and cozy failed miserably. You weren’t much of a morning person to begin with, but the busted heater in the motel room was your last straw.

October nights in Minneapolis were freezing, according to you at least. “Do we really need to go hunting a werewolf here? He‘ll probably turn into an icicle once the sun sets anyway,” you had grumbled during the car ride.

“Will a pumpkin spice latte do?”

Dean‘s voice startled you at last. He watched you visibly flinch, spin your head around and stare at him with wide eyes. You blinked at him first, then at the disposable cups in his hands and he could practically see your eyes light up with anticipatory sparkles.

You had teased him about his quote-unquote fragile masculinity before, but watching your lips curl up into a giddy smile was worth the feeling of self-consciousness at the coffee shop‘s counter. Somehow asking for extra sweetener and added vanilla went against his principles.

You never understood his aversion to coffee with milk and sugar and how it wasn’t as tough as Dean’s usual americano order. Either way; maybe those syrupy sweet beverages weren‘t too bad after all if they made you happy. And maybe instead of caffeine, he just needed the adrenaline rush of your fingers brushing against his. You took the cup he held out for you – or rather snatched it away.

“Easy, sweetheart,” Dean chuckled. “You’ve got plenty of time to practice the goblin thing for Halloween.”

His teasing remark earned him no more than a roll of your eyes. You were much more occupied with the brew in your grasp, clearly savoring the warmth on your hands and the sweetness on your tongue as you took a sip. The pleased hum that left your lips bordered on a moan and thus sent a shiver down Dean’s spine.

“Whatever witch blessed Minnesota with pumpkins in these weather conditions, may no hunter find them,” you hummed happily.

“I‘m pretty sure the artificial flavor is not from any local pumpkin patch,” Dean snorted softly.

“Shut up and let me enjoy the magic.”

“Magic, huh?,” he grinned, before he gestured downwards to your… attire. “That your wizard‘s robe then?”

You nearly choked on your beloved pumpkin spice latte, realizing the state you were in. After having woken up pretty much abandoned and freezing, you had grabbed whatever clothing item was nearest. It just so happened to be Dean‘s leather jacket, which now made you feel absolutely silly. You had simply thrown it on without thinking, not even bothering to change out of your pajamas beforehand.

At least that was what you were telling yourself and what you were set on convincing Dean with too.

“I was cold,” you shrugged defensively, but there was no way Dean would fail to pick up on the way your ears turned slightly red.

Noticing the tell-tale sign of your flustered state, his lips curled up and he huffed out a bemused chuckle. Emerald eyes wandered down your body once again with that shameless spark in them that he never bothered to conceal. “Didn’t say I was complaining.”

Far from it.

He was itching to reach out to you, pull you closer, let his hands wander all over you. To slip his fingers under that jacket, under that cozy pajama–

“Let me get changed so we can visit the witness.” Your suggestion interrupted those thoughts of his and left him scoffing. Of course you’d divert the topic to the case. Surely, if he were to point it out, you’d blame it on your desire to abandon this nightmare of a motel.

But Dean wasn’t quite ready to get to work just yet.

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he spoke, his tone as rich as the cinnamon in your coffee, and stole the pumpkin spice latte from your hands again, setting it on the small kitchen table. “What’s the rush? At least finish your coffee first.”

“It’s called a to go cup for a reason,” you half-chuckled half-sighed, but joined him as he took a seat regardless.

The two of you shared your coffee over idle conversation, your inner morning grouch more and more satiated with each sip. Despite your previous nagging about freezing, you definitely didn’t mind the coziness of lazier mornings like this.

Sure, the heater in this cheap motel wasn’t working properly and you forgot to pack an extra sweater to shield yourself from the crisp October air — but some aspects of fall did make you feel warm. Namely pumpkin spice lattes. Or the fact that Dean remembered you liked them with two pumps of vanilla.

Once having finished your coffee, you disappeared into the bathroom to get ready for the day. A quick shower later and having changed into your daily attire, you went back to Dean.

And you caught him red handed. He was eyeing your coffee tumbler, giving it an experimental sniff, before downing the very last bit of it. You snorted softly as he grimaced and tossed the empty thing into the waste bin.

He looked about as flustered as you did when he caught you wearing his jacket earlier. To each their own guilty pleasures, huh?

“Yummy?”

Christ, that smug smirk of yours was dizzying. Or maybe it was the sugar rush, from just a singular sip.

“Not for me,” Dean grumbled, tone more defensive than necessary. “Just wanted to try and..”

As he trailed off, he averted his gaze away from your eyes towards the leather jacket in your hands. A hint of irritation flickered across his expression.

You raised an eyebrow at him, your smirk not fading whatsoever. As you made your way towards the door, you stopped in front of him and held out the neatly folded jacket. “And?” You asked.

“And, uh… confirm that I prefer more subtle flavors,” he mumbled, his eyes wandering back up, but stopping at the curve of your lips. The second he saw them part slightly, some witty remark likely already on the tip of your tongue, he leaned in to place his own atop.

The kiss was chaste, but he was still able to taste it — behind the freshness of toothpaste, the mixture of cinnamon and nutmeg still lingered.

Subtle, just the way he preferred it. Or maybe it was just his imagination; or some of that autumnal magic you had mentioned earlier.

As Dean broke the kiss, he grinned watching your eyes flutter back open. He’d never get tired of that sight. Just like he’d never get tired of seeing you wearing his clothes. Placing one hand on top of the jacket, he nudged it back towards you.

“Keep it for today,” he said, his words neither an offer nor a suggestion, but rather a request. “Don’t want you complaining about being cold the whole day.”

You blushed and you pouted, but you didn’t protest and swiftly slipped it back on.

Dean gave an approving nod, adjusting the collar of it and smoothing the material over your shoulders. It was definitely too big on you, your hands weren’t even visible under the long sleeves anymore.

“You know you could’ve just asked if you wanted to borrow my clothes, sweetheart,” he teased, which earned him a playful smack on the chest.

“You weren’t complaining earlier,” you puffed. “And while we’re on the topic: You could’ve just asked if you wanted to try the pumpkin spice latte.”

Dean gave a short laugh and stole yet another kiss to savor the taste. You shivered as you felt his tongue slip past your lips and his fingers underneath the leather, settling on your waist. Even through the remaining layer of your shirt his touch seemed to leave a trail of fire down your sides.

“You weren’t complaining either,” he whispered, his warm breath on your flushed skin still the best remedy against cold weather.

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