~Dean has some very specific food rules, and you’re having none of it.~
Dean x Reader
A/N: So, when I was eating the other day, I did this, and I thought to myself: Dean would not approve. lol. This is just… an imagine, if you will. Enjoy.
~Feedback is the crack that keeps the Writing coming back~
You knew that you were in trouble when your stomach began growling louder than the Impala. It rumbled and rolled right along with the engine at an embarrassing volume that made you cringe and shrink into to the far corner of the long bench seat, praying that Dean couldn’t hear it. You hadn’t listened to him when he tried to get you to eat breakfast that morning, adamantly claiming that a cup of Joe was all you needed. On normal days, the brew would have sufficed, but twelve hours and three dead werewolves later, you were famished.
You didn’t even mind when Dean parked in front of the nastiest looking roadside diner you had ever seen. Sure, most of your days were spent covered in guts and blood or digging through muddy graveyard dirt, but you had standards as to what you put in your mouth. Any other day you would have put up an epic protest if forced to dine at such a place, but the swirling pit of emptiness inside of you had other plans.